


Vintage

by lily_zen



Category: 100 Monkeys (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_zen/pseuds/lily_zen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson Rathbone meets a girl in a hotel at ridiculous o' clock in the morning. From there a very strange relationship begins to bloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alpha and/or Omega?

Vintage

 

1\. Alpha and/or Omega?

 

Rated: Probably NC-17 for future content…

 

By: Lily Zen

 

 

Author’s Note: I don’t usually write pieces like this. Several factors contributed to the making of this story…

 

First, I’d like to thank my previous workplace for the mass-firing that took place on Friday. Secondly, I’d like to thank my subsequent three-day drinking binge and the four cumulative hours of sleep I got. Thirdly, I’d like to thank my iPod shuffle for loving 100 Monkeys a little too much. Finally, I’d like to thank Jackson Rathbone for being so damn hot.

 

Disclaimer: I don’t own these people, places, or events. They’re humans and I’m not involved in the sale of human flesh…yet. Lolz.

 

Ashe Martin is not a real person, at least as far as I know. Please do not, as she requested, try to hunt her down, egg her house, and/or send her hate-mail. “…that isn’t cool.”

 

Jackson Rathbone and 100 Monkeys are real people. I’m just characterizing them for the express purpose of playing god. I do not actually know them, so logically my characterizations are probably wrong. Don’t be pissed if you actually do know them and you’re all, “zomg, so-and-so would never do/say that!” It’s all in good fun.

 

Also, please do not try to hunt me down, egg my house, and/or send me hate-mail, ‘kay?

 

*

Her lip was raw where she’d been chewing on it, and she wanted nothing more than sleep.

 

But it was four in the morning and sleep was still elusive.

 

So she sat and she sighed and tried to read while the hotel room resonated with the sound of snoring.

 

Aggravated with the injustice of the situation, she finally left the room and wandered down to the lobby. It was still too early for the continental breakfast, but the coffee was already brewed. Mechanically, she poured herself a cup and sat in the empty dining area, staring blankly at the television.

 

Time passed. She had no idea how much.

 

Eventually she was startled out of her stupor by the subtle sound of shoe-clad feet on the carpeting. She glanced over toward the source of the noise reflexively, and her eyes stayed glued there despite herself.

 

“Oh my god…” she whispered to herself.

 

He was impossibly beautiful and startlingly real.

 

‘Stop gaping,’ she ordered herself, and jerked her gaze away guiltily.

 

Instead she found herself listening intently to the quiet sounds of him fixing his own cup of coffee. It only took a moment and then the silence resumed.

 

For a time, anyway.

 

“Can’t sleep either?”

 

The only other person nearby was the front desk clerk, and he was in the back office. So it had to be him, Mr. Impossibly Gorgeous.

 

She looked up to see his quirked brow, and open expression. “No,” she answered finally, “I usually work third shift.”

 

He nodded. “Same here. Sometimes, anyway.”

 

Smiling a bit, she chewed on her already-abused lip nervously.

 

“I’m—“

 

She didn’t bother listening to the rest—she already knew his name. Instead she simply let the cadence of his voice wash over her. It was so…nice. Better than when filtered through her laptop speakers.

 

“This is customarily where you introduce yourself also,” he prompted after a long pause.

 

“Oh! Sorry. Ashe.” She was embarrassed to be caught zoning out.

 

“Pleased to meet you.”

 

“Likewise.”

 

“So…you want some company?” He motioned to her table.

 

He was currently seated two tables away. It took Ashe a moment to catch up, but oh god, he wanted to join her. _Oh hellz to the yeah._

 

“Yes, of course. Please.”

 

He left his chair and strode over.

 

He was wearing a pair of those vintage-wash jeans—oh, yumyumyum—and a black t-shirt. On most guys, a pair of those jeans—the ones people pay way too much money for to get that freshly-distressed look and a label like ‘Diesel’—made her want to throw up. She just didn’t understand the trend. However, seeing him wearing those jeans as he walked towards her, it all suddenly made sense.

 

Would he mind turning around for a second…?

 

Somehow, Ashe managed to keep her cool despite abruptly ending up in a parallel universe.

 

Desperate not to draw attention to the fact that she was ogling him, she blurted out the first of many awkward and intrusive get-to-know-you questions. “So, what brings you here?”

 

“Work,” he replied and smiled self-deprecatingly as he sank into the chair across from her, “It seems like that’s all I do lately.”

 

She made a non-committal noise.

 

“And yourself?”

 

“Just visiting the area,” she answered, and tucked her still-recently dyed hair behind one ear. Most of the strands escaped right away. She’d kept her hair at various lengths of short for a number of years now.

 

“Really? Where are you from?”

 

Her response was deliberately casual. “L.A.”

 

His smile became even more brilliant, if that was even possible. “I’m from L.A. too.”

 

Like she didn’t already know. “Yeah? What part?”

 

He told her, and of course she knew the area. Ashe had lived in L.A. since she was fifteen. She promised herself she would not suddenly haunt the area like some deranged stalker. That was a little much, even for her.

 

“Wow! What a coincidence. We should hang sometime.” He offered, who was she to refuse?

 

“Alright, sounds good.” Ashe knew her voice was betraying her enthusiasm, but he simply grinned at her.

 

They talked until the room began filling up for breakfast and their eyes were heavy-lidded.

 

Finally, when Ashe yawned for the third time in one sentence, he said, “Alright, I think it’s time for bed.”

 

She smiled sheepishly. “I think you’re right.”

 

“Can I walk you to your room?”

 

She pretended to deliberate. “I think that’d be okay.”

 

So they left after making a quick pit-stop at the front desk. Once they reached her door, they both paused awkwardly.

 

“Well…”

 

“Um…”

 

“It was great meeting you,” they said in unison and laughed.

 

He grabbed her hand and pressed something into her palm while he leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Good night,” he told Ashe, and walked away.

 

Her hand clenched automatically and she heard a crinkle. She turned her gaze down to the paper and smoothed it out to read it once…twice…three times.

 

Then she slipped inside the hotel room, and put the paper in her wallet. Ashe knew there was a stupid smile on her face, but she couldn’t stop it.

 

She crawled into bed still clothed, and curled up next to its still-naked occupant. As she drifted off to sleep, the only thing Ashe could think about was that little slip of paper.

 

On it, in his messy scrawl, was a phone number, and the name ‘Jackson.’

 

*

 

_I never believed in love._

_My whole life it was a completely foreign concept to me._

_Love was a chemical reaction to an over-active libido and monogamous sex._

_It was society’s justification for physical pleasure._

_But not only do I speak of romantic love. I mean all love._

_My mother was neglectful, and my father… We don’t talk about him. It makes my mother upset._

_In short, I was emotionally stunted, and I was okay with that._

_But then I met him and my foundation was shaken. I didn’t know what to do…so can you blame me for what happened next?_

_My name is Ashe Martin._

_I am twenty-two years old and have no direction in my life. At least that’s what my mother says._

_I have two part-time jobs—one as a bartender, the other at a tattoo parlor—and occasionally sing in a band (I use that term as loosely as possible). I live with my only female friend in the apartment above said tattoo and piercing parlor owned by a guy named Rusty (I hope you all can appreciate the irony of that)._

_Everyone I’ve ever dated says I have commitment issues, and that I’m emotionally unavailable._

_What I’m about to tell you is true and honest. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but please be respectful. This is my life here._

_Oh, and please don’t egg my house or send me hate-mail, because that isn’t cool._

_Peace out, yo!_

_Yours Awesomely,_

_Ashe_

*

 

So…I’mma tbc’ing this. That’s ‘to be continued,’ fyi.

 

What’d you think? Is it even worth continuing?

 

A quick note on the chapter title. Alpha is the beginning of the Greek alphabet, or ‘A,’ if you will. Omega is the Greek version of ‘Z.’ I’m aware that pretty much the only time us Americans use the Greek alphabet is in the Christian church—‘He is the Alpha and the Omega….’ Oh, and to name our college fraternities and sororities. However, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Beginning and/or End?’ Idk, I thought it was pretty frakkin’ clever, but now I totally over-explained myself, so its impact is completely diminished.

 

…that’s disappointing. Lolz.

 

 

 


	2. Leaving Vancouver/OOC

Vintage

 

2\. Leaving Vancouver/OOC

 

Rating: NC-17?

 

Delusional Transcriber: Lily Zen

 

 

 

 

EDIT: I started writing this a long time ago, but as I mentioned before, I was sick for a few weeks, and prior to that I was in Florida for my best friend’s wedding. It’s been a busy time for me. I hope that I can manage to recapture your interest.

 

Author’s Note: I’m always super freaked out when I write real-person fics. Like, zomg, what if so-and-so-famous-person reads this? Then again, it’s a vast interwebz, what are the odds? (Please, god, I will be such a good girl [lolz] if you do not let me have a Wanda Incident.) So, here goes, chapter two…

 

 

(Dis)claimer: As I stated before, Ashe Martin is not real. Stop feeling threatened, ladies. She’s a creation of my imagination, which means I own her. Not pwn, own.

 

Oh, and I own Jackson Rathbone too.

 

…Lolz! Did I freak you out with that one? No, for cereal, I really don’t own Mr. Rathbone. Slavery was abolished awhile ago.

 

I also, sadly, do not own any of the other real people mentioned in here, or 100 Monkeys. [I think it would be terribly difficult to clean up after one hundred monkeys, don’t you?]

 

Don’t be offended by my writing. It’s purely fictitious, purely for fun, and purely not for profit.

 

*

 

I left the hotel later that day and took a taxi to the airport.

 

I only had one solitary luggage bag, which was small enough to be a carry-on, and my purse.

 

I hadn’t been in Vancouver long enough to need more than that.

 

I hated Vancouver. I’d always hated Vancouver, especially when I lived there. My mom made me go to a private school, and I didn’t really make any friends until my then-step-dad got custody of my step-brother. We were close in age and connected immediately. When things had fallen apart with my mom’s marriage and she’d dragged me off to Los Angeles, I’d missed them terribly—my step-dad and step-brother, that is. They’d made Vancouver bearable for me. Hell, let’s be honest, they’d made living with my mother bearable for me.

 

While I was still in the taxi gazing blankly at the scenery passing me by, I called my roommate, Lavender. Yeah, I know, odd name…her parents were aging hippies, so cut the girl some slack, alright?

 

The phone rang and rang, and eventually went to voicemail, so I hung up and called right back again. I’m nothing if not persistent.

 

This time she picked up on the fifth ring groaning, “Whaaaaaaaaat?”

 

“Damn, you sound like you just gargled with gravel. What’d you do last night?” I was chuckling quietly, trying not to laugh outright.

 

“Same thing we do every night, Pinky—tried to take over the world.” Her voice was just as dry as her humor, and I suddenly missed L.A. with a poignancy that made my heart ache just a bit. I squashed it down, like I did everything else, because I knew it wasn’t really L.A. I was missing.

 

I’d never held any particular fondness for Los Angeles, or any other city I’d lived in. When you moved as much as I had as a child, you learned not to get too attached to any one place or the people you met there. That was just asking for heartbreak when you were uprooted once again. Granted, my mother wasn’t dragging me all over the fucking world anymore, but old habits die hard.

 

“Sounds like you failed,” I responded, making sure that my voice was syrupy-sweet. I grinned to myself knowing that it would irritate Lavender beyond belief.

 

“Bitch,” Lavender growled on cue, and I heard rustling as she threw off her blankets and got out of bed, “So, anyway, what’s up with you? I assume there’s a purpose for this absurdly early phone call, other than irritating the piss out of me.” Her voice was echoing a bit now and I groaned out loud.

 

“Lavender, are you seriously peeing while you’re on the phone with me?”

 

She was silent for a moment and then stated, “So fucking what? I pee while you’re in the room with me too. How is this any different?”

 

I tried not to sigh in exasperation. “Because I can’t hear you when I’m in the shower, maybe?”

 

“Oh, shut your face. What about the eighty-million times I’ve peed in your presence while we’re partying? What about the time you kept watch while I peed on the side of the road? Jesus, you must have spent time in your dad’s presence, ‘cause you sure are prudish today.”

 

“…Point taken. You win. I’ll try and de-prude before my plane lands in L.A.”

 

Lavender laughed in response to that and asked me, “So you’re coming back today?”

 

“Didn’t read the itinerary I left you, huh? Should’ve guessed…”

 

“Nah, I figured you’d call me eventually. I have been feeding your turtle for you though. He misses you. I can tell. He’s been clunking against the glass quite furiously. By the way, what is that turtle’s goddamn name? Did you EVER name it?”

 

“Yeah, his name is Raphael, like—“

 

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?! Oh my god!” And Lavender promptly fell apart giggling, “Dude…you’re so…wow…this is why I love you more than every boyfriend I’ve ever had combined.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, thanks for feeding Rafe. I’m sure he appreciates it. Could you do me a favor and take him out for a bit? Maybe talk to him? He likes that.”

 

“…He’s a turtle. How do you know what he likes?”

 

I frowned and chewed on my lip. “I just can. He clunks less, okay?”

 

“Alright,” she agreed with a lengthy sigh, “…So when are we getting the rest of the Ninja Turtles? And what about Splinter?” And she was off again, laughing like a hyena.

 

I rolled my eyes and resolved to wait until she calmed down a bit.

 

When her cackling had died down to intermittent chuckles, I finally said, “I should be home in a few hours. My flight’s on time. Check the goddamn itinerary on the fridge for the exact time. I’ll call you when I can turn my phone back on.”

 

“Okay, but hey, before you go…When can we get a real pet? Like a cat or something? As much as you enjoy your low maintenance turtle, I’d really like something furry.”

 

I just couldn’t resist. “Honey, you already have a pussy…” My voice was deliberately light and innocent.

 

And we both cracked up laughing.

 

“I suppose that’s true,” Lavender said when we could both breathe again, “But I’d like one that’s autonomous, and don’t even say that it already has a life of its own—I’m well aware of that fact.”

 

I sighed as she took the wind out of my sails. “Okay, okay, let’s talk about it later though. I’m about to pull up at the airport.”

 

“Okay,” Lavender agreed, “I love you, ho-bag. Have a safe flight.”

 

“Love you too, cunt-face. I’ll see you soon.”

 

I hung up the phone smiling.

 

It was as I was boarding the plane that it occurred to me that I hadn’t told her about my close encounter of the bizarre kind, and the dangerously tempting digits in my wallet. Oh well. It could wait until we were face-to-face…in fact, it probably should. There’d be less yelling that way.

 

*

 

That night I was safe at home, and I’d already sat with Raphael for awhile. When I finally put him back in his aquarium, he didn’t clunk against the glass anymore. He really had missed me, I guess.

 

I had a shift later that night at the bar I worked at called Treble.

 

Interestingly enough, the band I sometimes played with had a gig there that night. Guessed I wouldn’t be joining in that night.

 

Lavender and I were in the bathroom simultaneously getting ready and taking swigs out of a bottle of Cabo Wabo. I was wearing pretty standard work attire for me, that being black jeans, ass-kicking boots, and a corset I’d picked up in that newly popularized classic-tat fabric. Looked pretty hot if I do say so myself…which I do.

 

Lavender stepped up next to me in the mirror, and I tried not to feel inadequate in comparison. I didn’t take much stock in physical beauty, but it’s hard not to when your best friend looks like a model.

 

Lavender was super tall with just the right amount of body fat so she didn’t look anorexic. Her hair was a long, perfectly cut and styled sheet of mahogany, and her eyes were so ridiculously blue they looked like contacts. She may have had a hippie name, but Lavender was one-hundred percent couture.

 

She was wearing a tunic of light gold fabric and jeans that made her legs look longer than the PCH. As if that wasn’t enough, she just had to wear heels too.

 

I’d never had a complex growing up about my physical appearance. I simply didn’t give a shit—I dressed to make myself happy and colored my hair to my heart’s content, and in general did whatever the fuck I wanted. Some days I’d wear a cut up prom dress with combat boots. Other days I’d dress like a dude. Whatever.

 

…Until I met Lavender, and suddenly I became slightly envious of the way people would stare when she walked into a room, of the way she carried herself with such poise and grace, how she looked like a goddess and knew it and was STILL one of the coolest, most down-to-earth people I’d ever met.

 

Sometimes, I can admit this to myself now, I wanted to be like Lavender and command that sort of respect and attentiveness from others, rather than having to fight for it every step of the way, which is what it seemed my life always was like—an endless battle for dominance.

 

I shook myself forcefully out of my melancholic thoughts and went back to doing my make-up. “So…I may have met someone up in Vancouver.”

 

“Really?” Lavender asked me, her voice light and curious.

 

“Mm. Nice guy. He’s an actor. Lives in L.A.”

 

“For real? What’s his name? What’s he look like? Do I know him or know of him?”

 

“You might…Remember that movie, Twilight?”

 

Lavender groaned as though she was in pain. “You mean the one you made me go see three times? How could I not remember that movie? Its teen-angst-love-story-drama plotline is forever burned into my brain. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night…” Her voice dropped down to a dramatic whisper, “I see…movie scenes…”

 

“…Nice _Sixth Sense_ imitation.” I was unamused.

 

“I thought so,” Lavender responded in her normal tone of voice, “So anyway, what’s the flick got to do with the dude? Ohmigod, please tell me you did not go hunt down the actors! You did, didn’t you? No, you’re not that crazy. Calm down, Lavender, your roomie’s not that insane.”

 

“Haha. No, I did not hunt down the cast of Twilight. I ran into one of the actors at my hotel. We got to talking and whatever…he gave me his number, end of story. Nothing quite so dramatic and fantastical as your imagination.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

Things were quiet for a moment while I moved on to doing my hair. I’d recently dyed it super dark brown and put ridiculously red streaks in it.

 

It looked cool, but I wasn’t particularly attached to it. In fact, I kept having dreams about going back to my natural color, but I wasn’t sure about that yet. I wasn’t even sure I remembered my natural hair color; I’d been dyeing it for so long.

 

“…So which actor was it?” Lavender finally broke down and asked me, “Not the married one, right? I mean, hell yeah if it was, but no no, naughty girl. I’m more the homewrecker out of the two of us.”

 

I laughed while I straightened my unruly hair into place. “No, not the married one. You remember the younger blonde vamp?”

 

“Jasper? Fuck yeah, I do, he was hot as hell…

 

“OHMIGODNOFUCKINGWAY!!!”

 

And that’s why I was glad I hadn’t done it on the phone, as Lavender’s pitch and volume must have reached supersonic levels in that moment. I could only imagine my ears starting to bleed if I had to endure that over the phone.

 

“HOW IN THE SEVEN HELLS DID YOU MANAGE THIS?!?! DEETS! GIVE THEM! NOW!!!”

 

I laughed and told her the story from the beginning as we finished getting ready and throughout the drive to Treble.

 

*

 

I’d started working at Treble back when I was twenty.

 

However, I started hanging out at Treble back when I was seventeen.

 

I was seeing (and by ‘seeing’ I really mean ‘fucking’) this guy, Nic, who worked there as a bartender. He’d get the bouncers to let me and my friends in and serve us ‘til bar close, or until he got off of work, whichever came first. At this point, we usually went back to his place and fucked like rabbits until I couldn’t take any more or had to leave for school, though sometimes I told him I had to go to school when really I just needed to go home and crash. He was fucking insatiable, and my body could only handle so much.

 

…Wow, that got totally off-topic. Ah, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

 

Anyway, I got to be really good friends with all the servers and a lot of the musicians, and even the owner, Brandon. At first he didn’t know I was underage, but when he finally figured it out, he wasn’t too upset. Minimal cursing and muttering only.

 

Then he said the magic phrase, “I never heard that. I don’t know how old you are, and nobody else here does either.” From then on I had a free pass to get in whenever I wanted.

 

Nic pretty much became obsolete, and eventually he realized it too. We stopped seeing each other amicably, and shortly thereafter he moved to Las Vegas to tend bar at some nightclub on the Strip. We failed to keep in touch. Every once in awhile I wonder whatever happened to him, and how his life is now, and whether or not he ever grew up and started dating women his own age.

 

Then I think to myself, ‘probably not, people rarely change,’ and move on with my day.

 

In any case, I became a well-known and much-loved fixture at Treble, and when I was twenty, Brandon finally offered me a job. Well, not so much ‘offered’ as demanded that I earn back some of the profits I drank away over the years. He’s such a sweetheart, really.

 

When the band was born, Treble was the first place we booked a gig. We still mostly played there. The atmosphere’s nice and the crowd is always really cool. Almost everybody who comes to Treble is a big music appreciator, so that’s a major plus in playing there…

 

As Lavender and I parked in the employee parking lot, I found myself torn with wanting to be on stage with my friends and wanting to earn enough money to pay the rent next month. My futile desire and indecision must have been transparent, because Lavender abruptly said, “Why don’t you just get Radha to cover for you? She can handle it, and you know she’ll do it. The girl fucking worships you.”

 

“Doesn’t seem right,” I mumbled, “You know she’s…”

 

“Completely infatuated with you and wants to fuck you so badly she’s about ready to explode?”

 

“…yeah,” I said, “But it’s more than that, I can tell. She’s one of those girls who gets a taste and has to have the whole pie all to herself. You know I can’t give her that.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t play around a little,” Lavender stated, ever the devil on my shoulder.

 

I sighed and got out of the car, beginning the walk inside the building. “I don’t fuck around with people’s emotions, Lavender. That’s the one thing I’ve got going for me that I actually do right. A girl’s got to have some lines she won’t cross.”

 

Lavender sighed and smiled at me like I was the cutest little thing she’d ever seen. “I know, babe, and usually you know I have extreme respect and admiration for your morality…but in this instance, I say ‘use and abuse.’ It’ll only be a small manipulation, like a white lie. I’m not telling you to offer to have sex with her if she covers for you tonight, I’m just saying…dangle the lure a little bit.”

 

I grinned at her and promptly rolled my eyes heavenward. “You’re awful.”

 

“I know. You love me anyway.”

 

“I do. Your good qualities far outweigh the bad.”

 

“Why do you think Stephen keeps coming back for more?”

 

I groaned and put my hands over my ears as we walked through the back corridors, and sang ‘La Cucaracha.’ I did not need to hear about two of my best friends bumping uglies. Ick!

 

Lavender and I split up, she heading towards the warm-up room the bands congregated in before shows, and me heading towards the bar, exempting a quick pit-stop at the time clock.

 

“Hey, Radha,” I greeted the other female bartender on tonight.

 

She turned to me and smiled radiantly, and said, “Hi, Ashe! How was your vacay?”

 

“It was okay,” I told her, and that was enough for Radha.

 

I could feel her eyes on me while I checked the supplies behind the bar. It didn’t really bother me that she liked me. To be honest, it was pretty flattering. Radha was a gorgeous girl and under normal circumstances I would’ve done her in a New York minute. Of course, that whole ‘wants a commitment’ vibe I kept getting from her was definitely off-putting.

 

Seriously though, Radha was hot, and smart, and funny, and energetic. I had no doubt that she’d be awesome to hang with outside of work, but I was deathly afraid of her misinterpreting my actions if I ever initiated something like that. But, oh god, she was so hot!

 

Radha was East Indian, and had that characteristic russet skin, and thick, dark hair that tumbled down her back in long waves, and these extraordinary green eyes. It was almost painful to look at her. Seeing how the only time I ever saw her was at work, I only ever saw her wearing dark pants or skirts and low-cut tops designed to make men unthinkingly give us larger tips.  

 

Sometimes I wondered why such a gorgeous girl who clearly could have had anyone wanted me. I wasn’t anything special. I was shorter than Lavender and curvier than I’d always thought a girl my height should be. My hair was a mutilated, over-processed mess, and my facial features were what people called ‘classically beautiful,’ whatever the fuck that meant. I wasn’t overly in shape—I had a little muscle tone I’d gotten back in high school, thanks to gym class and boarding and my fluctuating infatuation with Dance Dance Revolution, but that was pretty much it.

 

The fact that people were attracted to me always kind of flabbergasted me. I figured it must be my sparkling wit (read: sarcastic humor) and vivacious personality (read: questionable sanity) that drew people to me more than anything else.

 

I filled drink orders and flirted for tips on auto-pilot. It was so easy for me now that I didn’t even have to think about it. I was always a natural at it, or so Brandon had told me, and now with a couple years of experience under my belt it was like breathing to me—an automatic reflex.

 

Not that bartending was my life’s calling or anything like that.

 

I’d seen way too many people start down that road and get completely sucked into the lifestyle, never to return. Nic was one of those. Just one of many that I’d watched lose themselves to the partying lifestyle. I didn’t want that for myself. Of course, I had no idea what I did want for myself, but I knew that wasn’t it.

 

About ten minutes before Sometimes Humanoid was about to go on, Brandon slipped back behind the bar. He was a big dude, six foot two or three, rock solid muscle. I’d always laughed and teased him about being a Vin Diesel wannabe, because he kept his head shaved like said Hollywood star.

 

Brandon rarely served drinks anymore. That’s what he had us for. He preferred to be more of a behind-the-scenes guy, making sure things ran smoothly and on schedule, and taking care of all those little details we sometimes overlooked. So for him to come back behind the bar with us was an unusual thing, and I raised an eyebrow quizzically.

 

He leaned down and almost completely dwarfed me with his sheer presence, and whisper-boomed in my ear, “Your friends told me you need to play with them tonight, so go. Play.” He tried to shoo me off, but I was rooted in place, still staring questioningly. “They’re fucking annoying and persistent, alright? I’ll cover ‘til you’re done, then you better earn me hella profit, kid.”

 

I laughed and bounced off, and practically ran to the miniscule backstage area where I knew my friends would be waiting.

 

We exchanged enthusiastic greetings, and though I tried to be unbiased, I probably paid a little too much attention to my closest friends. Alex picked me up for a back-cracking hug, and when he set me down I made sure to mess up Xris’ hair—he hates it when I do that, and Louis and I exchanged our customary handshake that we’d made up sophomore year during a pep rally we skipped, sometime during the consumption of a quarter of weed. Stephen slung his arm over my shoulders and gave me a quick buss on one cheek—he was always the sweetest out of my guys.

 

“So are you playing tonight?” he asked me inquisitively.

 

“Word, bitches. So you might have to re-work your set list.”

 

While the band and I made some quick changes to the set list, Lavender snuck up and wrapped her arms around my waist. “So I did good?” she asked me with a sort of little-girl-looking-to-please expression on her face, “Brandon came to cover for you?”

 

I laughed and nodded, “Yeah, you did great.”

 

“He’s a hard-ass. It took some work. I may or may not have implied that I’d owe him some sexual favors, so if you walk in his office tonight and see my shoes underneath the desk, don’t worry about it. I mean, you’ll owe me big if I have to blow your boss, but…I’m sure you’ll get me back someday.”

 

Scary thing is Lavender was only half-joking, I could tell.

 

She’d been through some shit when she was younger, if you couldn’t already tell, and had a hard time trusting people because of it. Sometimes she couldn’t tell the difference between sincerity and an operator, so she was pretty much always on guard. Lavender’s parents may have been absentminded aging hippies, but the places Lavender had lived had taught her the hard way that life was tit for tat. Maybe that was why we got along so great—we were both jaded as all hell.

 

But I was confident in Brandon. He was a good guy. Physically imposing, but a good guy. So she may have offered to blow him, but he’d never take her up on it—he thought of Lavender the same way he thought of me, like we were stray cats he’d taken in. You don’t have your pet cat suck your dick, at least not if you’ve got all your mental faculties intact.

 

With the changes to the set list made, it was time to go onstage. I was abruptly nervous.

 

I was always nervous right before I walked out onstage. I think it was a hold-over from childhood traumas. My mom used to sign me up for music lessons and voice lessons and dance classes and so on and so forth. With all of these things came the inevitable recitals and competitions and judgments…I hated the thought that my talent, my creativity would be quantified and compared against others. Pissed me off to no end. So I’d get nervous.

 

But Sometimes Humanoid was different altogether. It was more of a musical co-op than a band. We had about a baker’s dozen of musicians we’d met over time, and within that a group of people who contributed a little more to the songwriting, and even further in that group was the core group of Sometimes Humanoid, the six of us who’d been in it since conception, birth, and all its firsts. It was really a cool group to be a part of, and—don’t ever tell anyone I said this—I was proud and honored to have had a hand in it.

 

We didn’t all get together at the same time usually. A lot of us had other obligations that took precedence, so Sometimes Humanoid was pretty laid back. We’d book dates or schedule practices, and if you showed up, great, if not, no biggie. None of us took it very seriously, it was mostly just a creative outlet for us, and a way to meet cool people and make new friends.

 

Tonight was a little different. Ten of us had made it down for the gig. I know, that’s a lot of band members, hey? Well, we’d switch out, and a lot of us were only necessary for certain songs. It worked, trust me.

 

I was starting out the night on keyboards and small percussive instruments. Lavender was slipping on the strap to her bass while Alex made sure his guitar was in tune. We all had our respective niches and roles down pat by this time. Stephen stepped up to the mike and greeted the crowd. After a quick band introduction, he launched into the first song.

 

It was called ‘Stay Awake,’ and he and I had written the rough draft back in senior year when we’d decided it would be a great idea to trip out on Ambien. Needless to say, it wasn’t a great idea, and I would never recommend it to anyone out there. At one point I fell asleep with my eyes open and sleepwalked to Stephen’s fridge and ate a bowl of Count Chocula with hot sauce on it. Also during this adventure, Stephen and I somehow wound up with a dozen brand-new CDs…we still have no clue where they came from, but Stephen thinks he remembers seeing a Wal-Mart sign sometime after the cereal with hot sauce and before we woke up in the morning on his bathroom floor.

 

Kids, let this be a lesson to you—don’t do drugs.

 

After the first song, Stephen sang two more. During the third, I traded out with Garrett, and while he took over the keyboards, I played the violin. It was a mellower song and required some classical string counterparts.

 

  1. Once the third song was done, Stephen leaned in to the mike and told the audience, “I’m going to hand over the mike to Ashe now.” There was some enthusiastic applause and a   couple of catcalls as I set down the violin and strode over to the mike. Stephen stepped back and took a guitar from one of the other musicians. 



 

‘Tag out,’ I thought to myself as I watched Bill E. meander back to the shadows.

 

“What’s up, ya’ll?” I shouted into the mike, “Is everybody having a good time?” The response was unintelligible, but excited, and almost deafening in such a small space.

 

Once the noise died down to an acceptable level, I began conversationally, “You know, I almost couldn’t play tonight, ‘cause I was working right over there.” I pointed to the bar where Brandon and Radha were experiencing a bit of a lull. “But thanks to my awesome boss, and my equally awesome co-worker, I got to duck out from behind the bar and take the stage, so give them a huge round of applause!” The crowd was highly responsive and by this time of the night, susceptible, so I threw out a little suggestion. “If ya’ll really want to thank them, do me a favor and go order some drinks. Don’t forget to tip your bartender, ‘cause these guys are made of awesome!”

 

I saw people start to float up to the bar again, and smiled at a job well done. “Alright, this song goes out to you, boss-man. It’s called ‘Saint In Me,’ and it’s always made me think of you.”

 

The opening riffs ripped through the air. It was a little more dirty-rock than most of our stuff, but the music fit the lyrics so well that I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked alternating between purring and growling into the microphone. It was fun to feel sexy and raw all at the same time, to have so many conflicting emotions running through my voice at once. The lyrics to the song were intense and I tried to make my voice convey that verbal tornado.

 

I’d originally written the lyrics as a sort of meandering poem about the men in my life who had touched me and shaped me in different ways. Louis found it when we were sixteen and getting stoned in my bedroom (we did that a lot when we were younger). He convinced me that it would make an amazing song if I just tweaked it a little bit, so I re-wrote it a little more romantically than it originally was, and we started writing the music. It ended up being one of our best songs, and it was always a crowd-pleaser.

 

This time was no different than all the others.

 

I sang two more songs after that, one called ‘Realistic Fantasy’ and the last one called ‘Trick.’

 

‘Trick’ was a very intense song and pretty heavy, and if you bothered to listen to the lyrics it was pretty much a debbie-downer. We tried to balance out the heaviness of the lyrics by making the music fast and light and upbeat, which worked pretty well. Still, by the end of the song, I could usually spot a few people in the crowd with glistening eyes.

 

I passed off the mike to Louis, who was never very comfortable being the center of attention, but dealt with it anyway because otherwise we’d tease him mercilessly. Plus, he really did have an amazing and unique voice. At this point, most of us musicians rotated or switched out. We all had our jobs to do. Mine was currently to take over bass for Lavender so she could play the didgeridoo—yeah, that’s right, we have a didgeridoo.

 

We’re now officially the coolest band you know of, aren’t we?

 

…that’s what I thought.

 

I played until the end of Louis’ songs, and then my time onstage was up. Discreetly, I snuck off the stage and found my way back to the bar where I watched the rest of the show and filled drink orders and made hella-bank tips. I should really do the whole work-and-perform thing more often…

 

The band played until the bar closed, and I stayed until three helping with the cleaning and closing procedures while my friends packed up their equipment. Finally, just as I was rubbing my eyes like a toddler, successfully smearing my make-up everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, Brandon barked at me, “For fuck’s sake, go home!” I laughed and quipped back, “You got it, boss-man. Orders is orders, after all.”

 

Brandon just shook his head at me gravely, though I could tell he was trying not to smile. 

 

I clocked out and met Lavender out by the car, who was leaning casually on the hood smoking a cigarette. “You know what the good thing is about being a girl surrounded by dudes all the time?” she asked by way of greeting.

 

“The over-abundance of testosterone in the air? Wait, no, I got this…the dick-to-vag ratio? No, that’s not it, is it? Oh, wait, I know! You have way more targets to take out your PMS on!”

 

Ah, I crack myself up.

 

Lavender rolled her eyes at me and stomped out her cig. “No, you fucktard. The fact that they always want to do all the heavy lifting.”

 

Hm…I’d never really considered that before, but once I thought about it, I remembered that they wouldn’t let me move hardly any of my furniture into my apartment…or put it together…or fix my mislabeled fuse box. Oh god, they really did do my heavy-lifting!

 

“Wow…” I found myself whispering, slightly in awe of my realization. Here I’d always thought they treated me just like one of the guys.

 

“What?” Lavender asked me, “You never noticed that before?”

 

“Fuck no,” I shot back at her and moved to the driver’s side of the car.

 

“Yeah, we’re totally their little princesses,” Lavender stated as she slid into the passenger seat, “That’s why they have such a hard time holding on to their girlfriends. I mean, technically, when you think about it, they’re already involved in long-term relationships with some very demanding girls. It’s hard to break into that kind of tight-knit relationship, even if it’s just platonic.”

 

“Well, that and the fact that they keep dating dumb whores, so we keep scaring them off,” I pointed out to her.

 

Lavender nodded her agreement and stated, “Too true, boo, too true. Our guys need to buy themselves some better taste.”

 

“Or stop looking for the easy lays,” I responded.

 

“Word.”

 

The drive home was quick and, after my little revelation, uneventful. Lavender and I were both tired, and we shuffled up the back stairs like zombies.

 

“So when are you going to call that hot actor-dude? What IS his name?” Lavender questioned me while we removed our make-up in the bathroom.

 

“His name’s Jackson, and I don’t know. Do you think I should even bother? I mean, what if he just gives out his number to random girls all the time? Not that I have a problem with that, but I guess what I’m getting at is what if he doesn’t even remember me?”

 

Lavender looked at me incredulously. “Honey, how could he NOT remember you? He met you in his hotel lobby at ridiculous o’ clock in the morning and gave you his phone number. Besides, you’re kind of hard to forget naturally.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Just that you tend to make an impression on people.”

 

“Oh,” then another thought occurred to me, “What if he’s working?”

 

Again, I received a look like I was crazy…or stupid…or both. “It’s called ‘voicemail,’ sweetheart. Leave one. Jesus, you are acting super weird about this. It’s just a guy, like any other guy you’ve messed around with before. It’s not life or death, or an intricate dance of courtship or anything…”

 

Lavender’s voice trailed off. After a moment of silence during which I took off my jewelry she continued, “It’s NOT an intricate dance of courtship, is it? You’re not…you don’t seriously like this guy, do you?”

 

I laughed incredulously and replied with cool aplomb, “Right, like that would or even could happen. We both know I’m emotionally incapable of such things.” Of course I ignored the quick twist in my gut that tried to tell me otherwise. “Besides, I only met him once. I barely know him. You’re right, I’m being irrational. I just need to suck it up and call him.”

 

“Yeah, otherwise I will. That boy is up to my standards, and if you don’t tumble him, I fucking will.”

 

“Oh, I know you _fucking_ will.” I cracked up laughing while Lavender groaned loudly.

 

“God, you need to stop hanging out so much with Louis. His awful sense of humor is rubbing off on you.”

 

Shortly thereafter we parted ways, each of us going to our separate rooms.

 

Before I crawled into bed, though, I got Jackson’s number out of my wallet and put it on my bedside table with a little mental note to call him sometime tomorrow. Hopefully he wouldn’t be filming so I wouldn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of leaving a voicemail. I hated leaving messages. I always rambled on and on incoherently, wishing somebody would shut me the hell up and save me from myself until (usually) the machine cut me off. It was pretty damn awful.

 

…Maybe I could just send him a text?

 

Man, I was really turning into a big, fat pansy in my old age.

 

Lavender was right. I just needed to stop treating him like he was different from any other person I’d ever met, from any other number I’d ever called.

 

Except, I didn’t know why, but he was.

 

*

 

TBC…

 

Well, I finally got chapter two done. I hope it gets validated rather quickly, as I’m very eager to hear your responses. Basically, I just wanted to develop Ashe’s character a bit more before launching into the plotline. So yeah…there was a lot of filler in here, but I think it was fun filler.

 

Also, I’ve kind of decided to write the lyrics for all of these songs that Sometimes Humanoid has. So far I’ve only got Trick done, and Ashe is right, it is intense and kind of a debbie-downer.

 

Perhaps if you are all good little readers and leave me a review, I’ll put it up on my (as of yet unfinished) website and send you the link in response. Sound good?

 

…That’s right, I’m not above bribery.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Voicemail Panic

Vintage

 

3\. Voicemail Panic

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Transcribed By: Lily Zen

 

 

 

 

Note: I’m back again with the third installment of the Adventures of Ashe and J. Action.

 

Some of you may be disappointed so far with the lack of sexytimes and RStAT (Romantic Stuff and Things). Please be patient with me. We’ll get there eventually. Besides, this story is more of a growing-up tale than a romance—the lovey-dovey stuff is a part of it, certainly, but it’s not the main focus of the story (Ashe wanted me to make sure you were all well-informed on this issue).

 

(Dis)claimer: As per the usual, I own Ashe and all of the fictitious characters and places mentioned (such as Treble). I especially own Sometimes Humanoid and all of their songs. [In case you didn’t read the ending note on the last chapter, I have decided to write the lyrics for all of these songs and post them on my website. If you’re interested, ask me for the url.]

 

And, again, I do not own Jackson Rathbone, 100 Monkeys, or any of the other flesh-and-blood creatures mentioned in this story.

 

Please do not be offended by my writing. It is purely fictitious, purely for fun, and purely not for profit.

 

*

 

I didn’t roll out of bed until eleven o’ clock, at which point I shuffled my way to the coffee maker and fixed myself a fresh pot.

 

Lavender was already gone for the day. She, very much like me, had two part-time jobs. We both worked part-time at Eclectic, the tattoo and piercing parlor downstairs. She was apprenticing right now as a piercer. I ran the front counter. Rusty kept trying to get me to apprentice under him as a tattoo artist and piercer, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to commit myself to that yet.

 

Lavender’s other part-time job was the one she was at that morning. She worked at a small gallery that specialized in art glass and glass sculpture. It was really cool. I went there all the time, even though I rarely bought anything. Mostly I just liked being surrounded by all of that beauty, and watching the light hit the glass and refract all over the white walls. It made me happy.

 

So I was alone that morning, listening to the eerie silence in my apartment. You know when it’s so quiet that the littlest sounds are super loud to your ears? Yeah, it was like that. I did not approve.

 

While the coffee brewed itself, I went and turned on my iHome and put my entire library on shuffle. Rafe was clunking again, so I took him out of his aquarium and set him on the living room floor for awhile. He really did need a turtle-friend…

 

I got myself a cup of coffee even though the pot wasn’t done brewing yet, and sat cross-legged on the floor with Rafe. “Dude,” I began conversationally, “It is way too early. How’d you sleep last night?” I paused like he was answering me. “Really, that’s good. I suppose I slept well. I don’t know. I didn’t wake up on the floor, so that sounds like a good night to me.”

 

Rafe was slowly crawling across the carpet, checking things out like he always did. He was my little guard-turtle, making sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.

 

“So,” I continued on, oblivious to the fact that if someone walked in and saw me talking to a turtle that they might question my sanity, “I met this guy when I was visiting Dad up in Vancouver. He seems really cool, so I think I’m going to give him a call. Thing is, I’m hesitant for some stupid reason. I don’t get it. What do you think?”

 

Again, another pause, and I cocked my head to the side like I could hear Raphael’s response. “You think I need to stop being such a pussy? Wow, Rafe, you’ve been spending too much time with Lavender. Her bitch-vibes must be rubbing off on you. I suppose you’re right though. What do you think is an appropriate time of day to be calling up-and-coming Hollywood stars? Now? Really?”

 

GULP.

 

It was a pretty logical time to be calling though. Most people were up and running by noon. A thought occurred to me then and I groaned out loud—what if I had to leave a voicemail?

 

I got a piece of scrap paper from next to the phone and a pen, and quickly wrote out what I’d say if I had to leave a voicemail so that I wouldn’t sound completely mentally cracked.

 

“There,” I stated, looking at the finished paragraph with a feeling of pride and accomplishment, “Now I just have to actually call him.” I was feeling nervous again and stood at the breakfast counter smoking a cigarette while contemplating going back to my bedroom and getting Jackson’s number and my cell phone. I only gave out my home phone number to my close friends...and my mom, because I didn’t want her calling my cell phone, like ever.

 

With my cigarette smoked down to the filter, I put Rafe back in his aquarium—didn’t want him getting lost in the living room while I ran back into my bedroom—and grew some balls.

 

I swiped the piece of scrap paper and my cell off of my nightstand and refilled my coffee on my way back to the living room, where I turned the music down a bit. Then I punched in the digits and my thumb hovered over the Call button…

 

I know what you’re thinking. I totally chickened out.

 

But no! I did not! I hit the button!

 

And after a moment it connected and began ringing.

 

My stomach twisted and writhed in anxious anticipation, waiting to discover the result of my bravery.

 

Finally, someone picked up. “Hello?” the voice—his voice, I thought—asked over the airwaves.

 

“Hi,” I chirped, probably sounding way too excited, “Is this Jackson?”

 

“Yeah, this is he. May I ask who this is?”

 

“It’s Ashe, we met—“

 

“At the hotel, yeah, I remember.” His voice lightened and sounded a bit more relaxed, or maybe it was just my imagination. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to call.” He laughed a bit, and I found myself giggling (yack, I never do that, I think it’s stupid).

 

“Yeah,” I told him, “Well, I flew out later that day. Then I had to work, and blah blah, so on and so forth. In short, life called.” After a short pause in which I took a breath of air, I continued, “I hope its okay that I called at this time of day. If not, don’t be afraid to say so.”

 

“No, no,” Jackson responded quickly, “its fine, I was just getting ready. We have a late start today. I’ve got some time.”

 

“Oh. Well…great!”

 

Oh god, I wanted to shoot myself in the foot for sounding like an overexcited teeny-bopper. Where were my brain cells and my amazing vocabulary?!

 

“So what’s up?” Jackson asked, effectively saving me from drowning in stupid, “How are things in L.A.?”

 

“Eh,” I responded and shrugged, then I remembered he couldn’t see me, “It’s L.A.-like, so I guess pretty much the same as the day I moved here.”

 

He chuckled a bit and said, “When did you move to L.A.? The way you talked about it, I assumed you were a native.”

 

“Oh, hell no,” I stated vehemently before I thought about it. It wasn’t until I blurted out the words that I realized maybe he actually liked Los Angeles and I should shut my trap. “I moved out here just before my freshmen year of high school. It totally sucked. My mom met some guy out here on the internet and off we went. Not that I liked Vancouver any better, but at least I had my Dad and my step-brother there.”

 

“Dad?”

 

“Well, yeah, not my real dad though. My step-dad. The first of many, I guess you could say. He was the one I clicked with the most though, and my step-brother, Quinn, is awesome. I still keep in touch with them. In fact, that’s who I was visiting when we met.”

 

_Oh my god, I’m starting to babble, shut me the hell up!_

 

“Oh, really? How often do you get to see them?”

 

“Not often,” I told Jackson, and I knew my voice reflected my inner sorrow at that fact, “Though it’s probably a good thing. Quinn’s girlfriend doesn’t like me very much, and Dad’s new wife couldn’t give a shit less about anyone but herself. Frankly, I think she’s just a gold-digger, but Dad says he loves her, so who am I to judge?”

 

“Very wise of you to realize you can’t make his decisions for him, even though you care and you’d like to smack him upside the head.”

 

“You mean both of them? Yeah. Quinn’s girlfriend is…well, let’s just say she’s not someone I would ever be friends with, and I don’t care who knows it.” I laughed to myself, and tried like hell to think of a way to change the subject. _Spotlight, away!_   “So, anyway, what are you doing up in Vancouver?”

 

“Oh, filming,” he responded easily.

 

“A movie? What’s it called?” _God, I’m devious, I should probably just come clean that I already know his career path, but then what will we have to talk about?_

“Have you heard of the _Twilight_ series?”

 

“Mm, yes, I have.” I had all four in first edition hardcover on my bookshelves. Note to self: if Jackson ever comes over, hide the books beforehand. I did not want to seem like some creepy, obsessed stalker-type-person.

 

Now, just to clarify, I’m not a Twilighter, or a Twi-hard, or whatever the fuck they’re calling themselves. I just liked the first book, and once I start a series I feel obligated to finish it, if only to know the ending. Frankly, by the end of the series I had developed a deep, unparalleled hatred for the main characters. All the love I’d felt for Bella and Edward in the beginning was shifted onto the supporting characters, who ended up being way more multi-dimensional and better developed than the main characters. Very disappointing…

 

“Well, it’s the second one, New Moon.”

 

“Oh, I see. Do you think it’ll be successful?” I asked conversationally.

 

“Well, at least with the die-hard fans, for sure, but…well, I guess we’ll see. I think it’ll be an awesome film though.”

 

“That’s cool. I hope it does well,” I responded sincerely.

 

“Thanks, me too. Well, I hate to do this, but—“

 

“You have to get going, right? It’s no big deal. Duty calls, and all that jazz.”

 

“Yeah. Would you mind if I called you back when I have some more time to talk?”

 

I swear to whatever deity you want me to swear to that my heart clenched in my chest just like my hand did when he pressed his phone number into my palm. “Yeah,” I heard myself say, voice a little breathier than normal, “That’d be great.”

 

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then.”

 

“Bye,” I managed to get out of my suddenly dry mouth.

 

“Bye!” I heard the soft click of the line disconnecting, and I flopped back onto my couch clutching my cell phone to my rapidly-beating heart.

 

A moment later I found myself shouting, “OH MY GOD, FUCK YES, HOLY JESUS!” I was kicking my legs in the air spastically and pounding on the couch cushions and so excited I secretly feared I’d spontaneously combust.

 

I floated on my little cloud of happiness into the shower and tried to think of which of the guys would be off of work today. I needed to move, I had to do something, and I wanted to share my stellar mood with somebody.

 

Today was going to be awesome.

 

*

 

_I know that you’re thinking even at that point it should’ve been obvious to me._

_Hell, as I look back on it, I realize that it should’ve been obvious to me. That whole scene could have been any thirteen year old girl in the country dealing with her first real crush._

_Still, it didn’t register with me._

_I had no idea what was coming, that meeting Jackson would be such a catalyst for change in me and my bachelorette lifestyle._

_I told you I was emotionally stunted._

_However, even though I didn’t see it, Stephen definitely did. He tried to warn me, to save me from throwing myself in a deep end that I just wasn’t ready for, and just like always I ignored his attempt to pull me back from the edge._

 

*

 

I stepped out of the shower feeling cleaner than I’d felt in years, and promptly called Stephen.

 

I’d met Stephen back in our freshman year of high school. I noticed him the first day of class, boarding with some of his friends just off school property. He was a good-looking guy, whom I could appreciate in an aesthetic sense, but I wasn’t looking for anyone in a romantic sense at the time. More than his looks, I noticed his board. I could tell even from a distance that it was a Powell—I preferred the same brand myself.

 

For awhile I just watched them skate. (Unbeknownst to me that Louis was another of the group. We met later on though, after Stephen and I got closer.) Then the bell rang, indicating that the lunch hour was over, and I made my way to my next class.

 

It wasn’t until sixth period that I officially met Stephen. He sat next to me in my drawing class. The teacher, who seemed stoned out of her mind, pretty much threw some crayons at us and told us to color for the hour. “Think she’d share her reefer with us?” Stephen murmured to me conspiratorially once she disappeared into the supply closet.

 

I laughed and responded, “Maybe if you had some Little Debbies to barter with.”

 

He laughed a little harder, making his pretty Asian-slanted eyes squint up. “I’m Stephen,” he told me and stuck out his hand, “Please don’t call me ‘Steve.’ I can’t stand that nickname.”

 

I took his hand in mine and responded easily, “Easy enough. I’m Ashe.”

 

“You’re new, huh?”

 

“Is it that obvious?”

 

“A bit. You don’t look like a Cali-girl.”

 

“I see. Guess I’ll have to try a bit harder to assimilate then.”

 

“Please, don’t. Most of the girls here are boring as hell. They all look the same, dress the same, talk the same, walk the same—fucking Hollywood clones, the lot of ‘em.” He looked so sincerely disgusted that I had to let him off the hook.

 

“I wasn’t really serious.”

 

“…Oh. Hey, do you board?”

 

“Um, why?”

 

“I saw you watching us during lunch, but you were all by yourself. You didn’t go by the groupie-gals.”

 

“…Yeah, I skate.”

 

“Cool. You should come boarding with me and the guys sometime.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

It was the beginning of a very beautiful friendship, so when I thought of someone other than Lavender to share my good mood with, Stephen was my first choice. Lucky for me he picked up on the third ring.

 

“Hey, what’s up?”

 

“Not much, beeyotch. I’m bored and energized. Come play with me.”

 

“What do you want to do?”

 

“Dunno. Just come over and we’ll go from there.”

 

“Alright. Be there in half an hour.”

 

We didn’t bother saying ‘goodbye.’ Stephen never did. He had terrible phone manners, and I guess they sometimes rubbed off on me.

 

I flew into my room to get dressed. A pair of jeans I’d scored for four dollars at a thrift shop and a Bob Marley tee that I’d mutilated so it was form-fitting later, I found myself almost ready to go. I did my make-up lighter than I’d had it the night before—hey, I wasn’t serving drinks in a dimly lit bar, so I was allowed to do that—and straightened my hair again.

 

Sunglasses, socks, and chucks, and I was ready to go. I swiped my purse from my room and sat at the counter smoking. There was a knock at the door way sooner that I’d thought, and I went to go fling it open. Stephen and I exchanged our customary greeting, a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, and he strode in looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.

 

“You’re early,” I told him as he helped himself to a mug of still-warm coffee.

 

“Yeah, whatever. Traffic was light. Deal with it.” He slumped over the counter and began drinking his coffee like it was ambrosia. “Oh god, you always have such good coffee.”

 

“You buy the same kind I do.”

 

“Yeah, but you make it better.”

 

“It’s called a measuring cup. Some people have them, Stephen. Some people even use them.”

 

“What a strange, foreign concept,” he responded airily, and we both laughed. “You should bring your board with. I was thinking we could stop by the park while all the kiddies are still in school.”

 

“Sounds awesome. I’ll go fetch Rose.”

 

Rose was my newest Powell-Peralta. Traditional shape, natural wood. Totally awesome. She was a smooth, easy ride. I wasn’t much of a trick skater—Stephen was WAY better at it than me—but I liked doing the ramps and such. I was a little afraid of some of the higher rails, and the half-pipe was a definitely no-go for me. Still, I liked going to the park because it was a way for me to challenge my skill level in a semi-controlled environment.

 

So Stephen and I went to the park and skated for awhile until we noticed a lot of high school kids trickling in. Once that happened, we split. I wanted to walk down Rodeo Drive and look at all the things I couldn’t afford, so Stephen indulged me. He really was a great guy. I couldn’t see why Lavender didn’t give him more of a chance to be that guy with her.

 

Then he drove us to the In ‘n Out Burger and we stuffed our faces and were excessively loud in the outdoor seating area.

 

“Dude, you’re in a really good mood today,” Stephen finally pointed out.

 

I smiled and nodded emphatically. “You’re damn right I am.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in such a good mood.”

 

I flung a fry at his face in retaliation and said, “I’m sure you’ve seen me in a mood like this before. I have a naturally sunny disposition.” A smile quirked my lips before I could think twice about it.

 

Stephen rolled his eyes at me and ate the french fry I’d thrown at him. “No, really, I’ve never seen you in this particular mood before. What gives?”

 

“Dunno.” I shrugged nonchalantly. For some reason I was reluctant to have ‘girl talk’ with Stephen. Can’t imagine why.

 

“Meet somebody?” Stephen asked with a peculiar smirk.

 

I glanced up from my soda just in time to catch it, and in that instant I realized that Lavender had the biggest mouth on earth. Dammit. “Lavender told you, didn’t she?” I asked cautiously, just to confirm.

 

“Yep.” The smug smile grew wider.

 

“That blabbermouth.”

 

“Yep,” I sighed explosively when Stephen continued, “So I take it that you talked to him today?”

 

“Yep,” I stated, still pouting a little bit about the whole my-roommate-can’t-keep-her-trap-shut thing.

 

“Dude, don’t be mad at La. I’m the only one she told,” Stephen tried to assure me.

 

“How can I be sure about that?” I asked, my voice overly dramatized and suspicious.

 

“We were alone,” was Stephen’s nonchalant answer. Ew, ew! That was code for ‘they were boning.’

 

 _My best friends do not have reproductive organs. They are like Barbies—smooth between the legs with painted-on underwear._ That was my little mantra whenever I needed to stave off images of my friends naked and sexing each other up.

 

All of the sudden my train of thought derailed. “Wait, whoa, hold up. When did you and Lavender have time to have sex in between last night and today?”

 

“We had a quickie in the bathroom at Treble.”

 

That little bit of TMI triggered some sort of coughing/laughing/choking hybrid fit in me, and I wound up having to put my head between my legs to calm down. “Only you two,” I finally stated while shaking my head once I’d calmed down.

 

“You would’ve done it too,” Stephen accused me, and I couldn’t really argue with him on that. I was a bad, bad girl, and I needed to be punished. Fuck, I still need to be punished. Any takers?

 

“So,” Stephen continued, obviously worrying at the subject like a dog with a bone, “this guy, this Jackson fellow…what are his intentions with you?”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you can’t be serious, Stephen. Are you my honorary big-brother today or something?”

 

“Well, it’s not like Quinn’s around to do the interrogation, is he?” Stephen retorted with a cocked brow.

 

I thanked my lucky stars then that I rarely saw Quinn, except for when I scraped up enough cash to go to Vancouver. He probably would have shit a brick if he found out that—le gasp!—I actually have men in my life in a sexual capacity.

 

“Speaking of Quinn, when the hell will I get to meet this kid anyway?” Stephen blabbed on.

 

_Never._

That would be disaster in the making. Only my closest friends knew about my life before L.A. and even then, all they knew were small tidbits. Selective details that I deemed worthy of public consumption.

 

“Back to this whole Jackson kick you’re on,” I not-so-subtly steered the conversation away from Quinn, “I don’t know his exact intentions. I assume that at some point they involve us getting naked together and—“

 

“Okay, that’s enough info for me,” Stephen cut in quickly and I grinned.

 

“Now you know how I feel when you and Lavender tell me things about you two.”

 

He smiled ruefully at me. “Guess so… But he’s a decent guy, right? This Jackson character? I’m not going to have to round up the guys for a beat-down, am I?”

 

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Nah, he seems cool. I think you’d really like him.”

 

“Okay. Just so I know that this isn’t another Brian.”

 

Ah, the infamous Brian. I would never hear the end of it. You make one bad decision and end up in the E.R. and your friends eternally think you’re a bad judge of character. In my own defense, he only turned psycho the one (and only) time. Other than that, he didn’t show any warning signs at all. Clearly not my fault!

 

“Definitely not another Brian,” I reassured him.

 

“Good. I’m done with the big brother speech now.”

 

“You’re the same age as me.”

 

“Brother from another mother?”

 

“That’s more like it.”

 

We both cackled raucously while people stared at us curiously. With the tension dissipated between us, we tossed our trash and headed back to my place to watch a movie.

 

After much argument, we settled on _The Princess Bride_.

 

I originally wanted a horror flick. Stephen was feeling the chick flicks. I compromised and suggested a comedy. He agreed, but only if we could make it a romantic comedy.

 

God, he’s such a fucking girl.

 

Thus, we arrived at _The Princess Bride_ , which I’ll admit is an awesome movie. Total genius.

 

We managed to make it half-way through before Lavender came home. The instant she walked in the door and said hello, Stephen (and not the big one) stood up at attention. It was Lavender’s turn to fix dinner, and she spoke to us while she prepped the food. Finally, Stephen volunteered to help.

 

“Alright,” I said to myself when he moved into the kitchen, “That’s my cue to vanish.”

 

I turned off the movie and slipped into my room, calling over my shoulder, “Let me know when dinner’s done.” From there I became a little lost.

 

I wanted my friends to have their privacy, mainly so that I wouldn’t have to witness their convoluted courtship dance, but I didn’t really like to be in my bedroom other than to sleep or have sex.

 

Moving hesitantly, I turned on my laptop and opened up my word processor. The words, once they started flowing, wouldn’t stop. I heard Lavender cry that dinner was ready, but I can’t remember if I responded. Sometimes I’d get a little too wrapped up in my own head. By the time I managed to resurface I’d written a four page long poem. I saved it as Untitled, which is what I saved all of my poems as temporarily until I could think of something more suitable.

 

I snuck out of my room and helped myself to some stuffed peppers and a beer, glanced around the apartment just long enough to see Stephen and Lavender curled up on the couch together watching something on the television, and went right back to my Batcave.

 

I decided to watch a movie on my laptop while I ate, and was happily engrossed in _The Matrix_ when my phone rang. I cocked my head to the side and stared at it curiously for a split second…then I lunged for it, hand outstretched.

 

“Hello?” I asked a bit breathlessly when I picked up.

 

“Hey, Ashe, it’s Jackson.” He sounded cheerful.

 

“Hi! How are you?”

 

“Doing good, thanks. I had a break between scenes, so I figured I’d give you a call before it got too late.”

 

“Well, thanks. You have perfect timing, actually,” I responded with a light laugh.

 

“Oh, really? How so?”

 

“My roommate-slash-best-friend and my other best friend are macking on each other in the living room. I couldn’t bear to watch so I’ve cloistered myself away in my bedroom.”

 

He laughed and said, “What? You don’t like watching your friends hook-up?”

 

“Well, I’m all for them being happy, I just don’t want to have those images burned into my brain for the rest of my life.”

 

We both laughed at that, and Jackson responded with, “Well, that I can definitely understand.” Conversation flowed easily with me asking about how filming was going, him slowly and patiently dragging more details about my life out of me, me probing for details on what he did when he wasn’t working…we talked about our favorite places in Los Angeles and our friends and he talked about his family a bit while I tried to avoid his questions about mine.

 

“Ah, Ashe, I’ve got to let you go,” Jackson finally said, “They’re summoning me back to the set with increasingly frantic hand motions.”

 

I laughed and told him, “Well, then go make your money. You’re going to need it for your ginormous phone bill.”

 

He chuckled after I said that and told me, “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later then. Hey, I’ve only got a few more days of filming ‘til I’m back in town. Do you want to get together and hang out then?”

 

“Sure, just give me a call,” I replied while I ignored the sudden sharp twists in my stomach.

 

“Great! Bye, Ashe.”

 

“Bye…”

 

Again, the phone disconnected, and I smiled goofily at my paused movie for awhile before I realized what I was doing and forcibly rearranged my expression into something resembling a normal human being, which, believe me, was difficult, as I am anything but normal.

 

I turned off the movie, recognizing that I was no longer in any state of mind to suspend disbelief. Instead, I opened my browser and went to Pandora to load up my Background Noise station. I ate quickly and set my plate aside in favor of a sketchbook and ebony pencil.

 

When I drew, I didn’t focus on anything or try to make anything coherent come out of me. It was like stream of consciousness.

 

After awhile I realized I was yawning frequently and my eyes were heavy-lidded. Lavender’s headboard was hitting the wall next to me and I rolled my eyes. I turned the music up and put away my sketchbook. Usually I slept naked, but seeing how it looked like Stephen was staying for breakfast I decided to slip into a black wife-beater and boyshorts. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him from seeing my bits. That was good enough for me.

 

I crawled into bed and slept like the dead.

 

_Heh, that rhymes…_

 

*

 

TBC…

 


	4. Reunited (And It Feels...Anxiety-Ridden)

Vintage

 

4\. Reunited (And It Feels…Anxiety-Ridden)

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Transcriber: Lily Zen

 

 

 

 

Notes: We’re back with chapter four. Ashe is nervous, so do us a favor and review—it makes her more inclined to share the rest of the story. She’s worried because she thinks this chapter makes her look like a doofus.

 

Also, we finally get introduced to Ashe’s mother this chapter. She’s a character. You’ll probably end up hating her just as much as I do.

 

 

 

(Dis)claimer: I own Ashe and all fictitious people, places, and things.

 

I do not own J. Action or any other real people, places, and things.

 

Please don’t be offended by my writing. It’s purely fictitious, purely for fun, and purely not for profit.

 

*

 

My life seemed like it was falling back into my anti-routine routine.

 

I’d wake up every day and spend some time with Rafe. I was really starting to think about getting another turtle, just so he’d have company during the day.

 

…Lavender was still trying to talk me into getting a cat as well. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that yet, so I kept avoiding a serious discussion about it.

 

Then depending on my work schedule for the week, I’d either put in hours at Eclectic or Treble. Sometimes I’d play with the band. Most of the time we just hung out and pretended to work.

 

I usually talked to Jackson once or twice a day. His film schedule was intense, so we snuck in conversations where we could.

 

Things were getting monotonous for me. I didn’t like when my life got predictable. It made me feel…old, boring, rote.

 

It was Saturday and I was supposed to be working at Eclectic this afternoon. I decided that wasn’t happening. I needed something spontaneous, but I knew that Rusty would kick my ass if I left him high and dry that day.

 

I bounced into Lavender’s room at ten in the morning with a plate full of her favorite breakfast foods and a huge mug of coffee. “Good morning, sweetness!” My voice was all happy and sing-song as I woke up my roommate. She groaned at me while I opened her blinds. “Fuck off, _mom_ ,” Lavender moaned when the sun hit her in the face.

 

“I have food for you,” I cooed at her and held the plate close to her nose so the smells would waft over to her.

 

Lavender’s lips tilted up in a reluctant smile. “Mm…” She sat up slowly and took the plate from me. From there she commenced shoveling food in her mouth at an overwhelmingly fast pace. I perched on the edge of her bed and watched, still holding the coffee.

 

Blindly, she held out a hand, and I passed off the mug wordlessly.

 

“Alright, what do you want?” My roommate asked me with a mouth full of food.

 

“Can you cover for me at Eclectic today?”

 

“Why? It’s my day off.”

 

“I just…need a break from reality today. Please, La?” I gave her my best puppy dog eyes and willed her to succumb.

 

She cocked her head to the side and asked me, “Is your reality that bad that you need another break?”

 

Shrugging my shoulders, I tried to put it into words for her. “I feel like my life is getting predictable. I spend so much time being obligated to be responsible. I just want a day where the only thing I do is please myself.”

 

My friend was nodding her head slowly while she finished eating, and then she said, “You didn’t need to butter me up with breakfast, even though I do appreciate it. We all need some time for ourselves, and you’re right, you don’t take enough for yourself. So go, have fun doing whatever. I’ll cover for you.”

 

I threw my arms around her for a rare hug and squeezed so tightly she let out a little ‘oof’ as her air left her lungs. “Thank you!” Leaping off the bed, I cleared away her dishes for her and went to go wear what I felt like today, not what I needed to wear.

 

On my way out for the day, I stopped downstairs and told Rusty that Lavender was going to work my shift that day. He was busy tatting up a customer, so he just gave me an absentminded thumbs-up. I slid into my car and took off for my mom’s house.

 

*

 

_Now, up until this point I realize I haven’t said much about my mother. Let me explain why._

_I hate my mother with the fiery passion of one thousand suns._

_I have for a long time._

_She never saw me as a person, an individual, someone with needs. My mother rarely saw me at all, unless I could be made useful somehow._

_I lived with my grandparents in Tampa until I was five or six while my mom gallivanted across the country chasing doomed relationship after doomed relationship. Sometime during the course of this futile exercise my mother became harder, more calculating, more exacting in what she was looking for in a man. It became less and less about love and more about things like security, money, and status._

_I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently my birth father was trying to find me. I have a few vague memories of a man with sandy blond hair talking to me on the playground at school, walking me home, and buying me ice cream._

_My grandparents were apparently in favor of my having a relationship with him, but when my mother found out there was an explosion of epic proportions. She’d meandered her way back home for a few days, and I can remember the sound of her rage, the way things broke as she threw them at my grandparents, her hard eyes as she told them we were leaving._

_I hid in my closet that night and cried myself to sleep._

_My grandparents were the only parents I’d ever known, and this woman, this stranger who told me her name was ‘Mom’ was taking me from them, from my home! Why were they letting her? Didn’t they want me anymore? I was too young to fully understand the situation and no one bothered to explain it to me until much later when my pain, my impotent rage, and my confusion had already crystallized into such blind hatred that it consumed my heart and swallowed me whole._

_My mother watched with narrowed eyes as my grandma packed my things the next morning. I resentfully watched my mother load the car from my perch on grandpa’s lap while he stroked my hair back from my forehead and surreptitiously slipped a piece of paper into the pocket of my overalls. I was old enough to use the phone and had begun reading by the time I was three, so I knew it was a list of phone numbers to reach he and grandma at._

_I was loaded into the car last, buckled into place just like the luggage. I craned my neck to keep my grandparents in sight for as long as possible, and then I cried and cried and cried. I cried until I lost my voice, until my mother pulled the car over and beat me on the side of the road, until my eyes couldn’t produce any more tears, until…_

_In fact, I don’t know that I ever truly did stop crying._

_And for those of you who are curious, I never found out who the man was, and no, I never saw him again._

_After that my memory gets shifty. So much of it was similar, monotonous that I think I blocked most of it out. We traveled a lot, I was left alone a lot in shitty motel rooms and one-room apartments, I ate a lot of fast food and showered at truck stops…_

_I learned how to con people and steal and ‘make do.’_

_I called my grandparents when I could find the time and a nearby payphone. I learned how to lie because telling them the truth made them upset._

_Then eventually she met and married my Dad. One day I was doing all of these things and the next I was in Vancouver, living in a huge house, and going to a private school with people who I would never relate to. As I’d already mentioned, Dad and I grew close. He took me camping and played sports with me, he checked my homework and made sure I studied, and when my mother decided I was going to be famous, took me to all of my extra-curriculars, came to every recital, performance, and game. His son came to live with us when I was eleven and we were happy and healthy and the poison in my heart was slowly being drawn out of me._

_So, of course, she just had to fuck it up for me._

_Elsa Von Dreit went back to being Elsa Martin, I was yanked away from my family and thrown out on the streets of Los Angeles._

_Elsa got engaged to some guy richer than Dad who claimed he was a Hollywood talent agent. She tried to get him to ‘discover’ me. I pretended I was mute while Elsa pumped her poison inside of me again._

_I lost myself in anything and anyone I could find--drugs, booze, men, women, music, art, writing, skating, parties, friends, sex--told you, anyone and anything. I was rarely found at my mother’s house, and the day after I turned eighteen, I moved out. My Dad paid the rent on my first apartment until I graduated high school._

_My mom got her second divorce my junior year and re-married before the ink was dry on the papers to someone even richer and even more famous. She was climbing her way up the trophy-wife ladder. I was SO proud._

_What really pissed me off though was when she got pregnant again. Whatever faith I’d had in a higher power was gone. If god really existed he wouldn’t have let her get her hands on another kid. She was just going to turn it into another status symbol, just like her Tiffany wedding ring, her Mercedes, and her beach-front house with its private beach. That cunt…_

*

 

I was brought back to the present as I pulled into my mother’s driveway and put my car in park. The car idled and I debated the wisdom of my impulsive decision. I didn’t come to my mom’s house often, and I knew she wouldn’t be home either. My half-sister, Meri, had given me a key though, so I could come visit her when I wanted to, and I did feel awful because I hadn’t seen her in almost two months.

 

I turned off my car and grabbed my things and unlocked the front door.

 

Following the sound of the television, I found Meri perched on the couch pretending to eat her soggy cereal. I sat down next to her and put my sandals on my mom’s cream-colored couch. “I hate soggy cereal too,” I told her conversationally.

 

Her head shot up for the first time that day, her pretty strawberry-blond curls bouncing as her green eyes (the same green as mine) did a quick assessment of me. “Ashe!” she cried and launched herself at me. I caught her in my arms while she held me in a choke-hold and preceded to half-yell at me, “Where were you? I missed you! Mom is stupid and Daddy’s always working and Guadalupe doesn’t speak very good English and I’ve been sooooo lonely!”

 

“Guadalupe?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Meri nodded emphatically and told me, “Mom hired her to do stuff like cook and clean and take care of me. She makes her wear a funny outfit. Why does she do that?”

 

I tried not to frown in disapproval of my mother and instead kissed Meri’s forehead and lifted her off my lap. “I suppose she thinks it makes Guadalupe look better than if she wore her normal clothes to work.”

 

My sister frowned and pursed her lips, something she did often when thinking, and finally said, “Does that mean Guadalupe’s clothes are ugly?”

 

“No. Just that she wouldn’t fit in.”

 

“Because Guadalupe is Mexican?”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

“What is that called? It has a name, right?”

 

“Yes, it has a name,” I responded and stood up, “It’s called ‘discrimination.’”

 

I watched Meri sound out the word very slowly as she followed me into the kitchen. “How do you spell it?” So I spelled it out for her, and knew she was probably going to Google it later on.

 

I saw a middle-aged Mexican woman in a dull gray maid’s uniform doing Sudoku at the kitchen table. “Hola,” I said to her as she looked up, “Me llamo Ashe. Estoy hija de Elsa. Como estas?”

 

She smiled at me kindly, her eyes crinkling, and responded, “Bien, gracias. Y tu?”

 

“Muy bien. Iremos a la playa.”

 

_English Translation Time!_

_Me: Hello. My name is Ashe. I’m Elsa’s daughter. How are you?_

_Guadalupe: Good, thanks. And you?_

_Me: Very good. We’re going to go to the beach._

 

“Okay,” Guadalupe responded and smiled at me. Then she promptly returned to doing her Sudoku. Meanwhile, Meri had been watching our short exchange intensely, whipping her gaze back and forth between the maid and myself. “Come on, kiddo, go get your swimsuit on and help me hunt down your sunblock. I already packed a cooler and some beach towels.”

 

“You speak Spanish?” Meri asked me as we walked upstairs to her bathroom and she got the sunblock out of the linen closet. I took it and dropped it into my bag.

 

“A little. I forgot most of it, but I can still hold a basic conversation.”

 

“I should take Spanish,” Meri stated mostly to herself as she went to change into her swimsuit. She came out a few minutes later wearing her green one-piece and a pair of shorts I recognized as the ones you wear in tumbling classes. So I was right, it was starting already.

 

“Ready?” I asked her and she gave me a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ I rolled my eyes at her. “Okay, smartass, let’s go to the beach.” We walked together out the back door and down the stone pathway that, after a few short feet, led us right to the beach. I laid out the towels and coated my little sister with sunblock and myself with tanning lotion.

 

We played in the water for awhile until Meri said she was hungry, and then we ate turkey sandwiches, chips, and apple sauce, and washed it all down with cans of Lipton Brisk Iced Tea. I made Meri wait half an hour before going back in the water and while she waited I distracted her with cards.

 

Then she was swimming in the ocean, and I was lying down on my towel, reading while the old guy who lived next door ogled me in my black and purple polka dot bikini. I could feel my skin slowly cooking and would periodically turn over so both sides roasted evenly. Don’t get me wrong though, I was still keeping an eye on Meri. Eventually she got sick of swimming and curled up next to me with her head on my stomach.

 

“Will you tell me a story?” she asked, and her voice was heavy with sleep.

 

“Okay.” Mom didn’t read Meri stories; that was her dad’s job, except he worked a lot and was often away on business, so it seemed to fall to the wayside often. “About what?”

 

“A purple unicorn.”

 

“Alright.” And so I told her about Tanzi, the purple unicorn, and how she was different from all the other unicorns because she was purple and they were all white. They all made fun of her and shunned her. Think _Ugly Duckling_. Sick of feeling unwanted and left out, the unicorn ran away and got lost in Blackwood Forest.

 

We were just getting to the part in the story where she almost gets eaten by a giant Ignoramus (giggle), but gets rescued by a mysterious black unicorn (ooh) when I noticed that Meri was breathing deeply and hadn’t moved in awhile.

 

I glanced down at my half-sister and felt a smile tug my lips up—she was out cold. “Guess we’ll have to finish later, hm?” I whispered and gently moved her off of my stomach. I used my big, billowy skirt to cover her up so that the sun wouldn’t burn her milk-pale skin.

 

My phone began vibrating in my bag and I moved to answer it before the noise would wake Meri up. “Hello?” I whispered into the phone.

 

“Um, hi?” Jackson’s voice came over the phone, “Why are you whispering?”

 

“I’m at the beach with my sister and she just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake her.”

 

Jackson laughed, I assume because I was still whispering, and replied with, “Okay, gotcha. You didn’t mention that you had a sister.”

 

“Half-sister. She’s six.”

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Meri.” I got up and walked away a few feet so I could talk normally, “She’s cool. I haven’t seen her in awhile, so I thought I’d drop by today and kidnap her for awhile.”  

 

“What’d your mom think about that?” His voice was light and teasing, and I’m sure he had no idea that he’d inadvertently opened up a whole can of worms in me that he definitely wasn’t ready for.

 

So I held my breath for a moment until the words that wanted to pour out of my mouth subsided, and finally, when I could guarantee that my voice would be just as light as his, I told him, “Oh, I wouldn’t know. She’s out, probably supporting a cause-of-the-week that she can’t even pronounce.” Okay, so the bitterness was not entirely held back.

 

“Kind of a socialite, hey?”

 

“Um, yeah. So I try to come by fairly regularly and spend time with Meri. God help her if the only female influence in her life is my mom.” I rolled my eyes heavenward.

 

“What about her dad?”

 

“He travels for work a lot. I mean, when he’s here he’s totally great with Meri, but…like I said, he works a lot.”

 

“That’s rough.”

 

“Yeah…” I looked at my sleeping sister and felt my gaze soften, “It is. I feel bad for Meri. She reminds me a lot of myself when I was a kid.” And that was the truth that utterly terrified me—I didn’t want Meri to end up like me, full of hate and completely lost and too scared to commit to any one thing--or worse…to turn into the Barbie that my mom had wanted me to be.

 

I shook my head to dislodge my melancholic thoughts and proceeded to change the subject. “So what are you doing calling on a Saturday? Don’t tell me you don’t even get Saturdays off.”

 

He was laughing and saying, “No, no. I actually called because I’m back in town and I wanted to know what you were up to. If you recall, we do have tentative plans to hang out.”

 

“Oh! Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. You just never told me a specific day.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t actually sure when I’d be able to get back. It’s all very dependent on how the filming goes.”

 

“Do you have plans for later?” I asked.

 

“Later when?”

 

“Um, what time is it now?”

 

“About four-thirty.”

 

“Oh, damn, I had no idea it was that late in the day. Well, what about around…”

 

And then panic exploded inside of me and I had no idea why and my mind was racing and my heart was pounding in my chest and my lungs were being squeezed by an invisible fist and my hands were shaky…

 

 _Is this a_ date _?_

_There’s no way I can be ready by five. Seven seems like a date-time to me. Maybe if I rush back to the apartment I can be ready by six?_

_SHIT! What are we doing? Where are we going?_

_Movies, food, clubbing…that all seems very date-ish to me. No, no, can’t do that…_

_I do not want him at my apartment. I haven’t cleaned yet this week and Lavender will be there and the guys might show up and I don’t want the Spanish Inquisition taking place in my living room, PLUS I still haven’t hidden those damn books!_

_Fuckfuckfuck—_

 

“Ashe, are you still there?” Jackson’s voice broke through my inner monologue.

 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, guess I zoned out there for a minute.” A nervous laugh escaped me and I cringed. Jesus, what the fuck was happening to me? And where the fuck was Meri?

 

“Ohmigod, where’s Meri?” My breath escaped me in a rush and now I was panicking for a whole different set of reasons.

 

My eyes scanned the empty beach and I spun around in a circle.

 

“BOO!” I heard my little sister yell as she jumped at me from behind a strategically placed boulder. My hand flew to my heart and relief flooded my body. I was laughing before I could realize what was happening. When I finally calmed down I told Meri, “Babe, you gotta tell me where you’re going. You can’t just disappear on me. Scared me half to death.”

 

She hugged me and said quickly, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to surprise you.”

 

On the other end of the line Jackson was laughing at us and I told him sternly, “Cut it out. You weren’t here watching the pervy old neighbor check me out. He’s certifiably creepy. Who knows just how much?”

 

“Who are you talking to?” My little sister trilled as I absently played with her wavy hair.

 

“A friend,” I responded.

 

“Can I say hello?”

 

“My little sister wants to say hi. Is that okay?” I asked Jackson.

 

“Yeah, of course,” he replied like I was odd for even asking. I put him on speakerphone and told Meri, “Okay, say hi, but remember your manners.”

 

“Hi!” She cried in her cutest voice, “My name is Meri. What’s yours?”

 

“I’m Jackson,” he answered, and I could hear the smile in his voice. She was going to have him wrapped around her pinky before he knew it.

 

“Hi, Jackson! My sister says you’re her friend. She has lots of friends who are boys. I don’t really have any boy friends yet. Ashe tells me that’s because boys are stupid. Are you stupid?”

 

Cue me laughing my ass off. I was cackling so hard that I almost fell over, and Jackson was laughing about it too!

 

“Why are you guys laughing?” Meri asked, pouting her bottom lip out slightly.

 

I was still giggling when Jackson’s voice came through the phone and he said, “No, Meri, I don’t think I’m stupid. Then again, people usually think the best of themselves. But your sister’s right, most boys are stupid and you shouldn’t bother with them.”

 

Aw, he was warning my little sister about the dangers of men! How adorable!

 

“Oh, okay. So are you just Ashe’s friend or are you her kissy-face boy friend? Because if you’re her kissy-face boy friend, you might have to go punch some other boys in the face, because Ashe has a lot of boys who want to be her kissy-face boy friend.”

 

_Oh my god, kill me now._

Before Jackson could even answer her, I interrupted with, “Oookay, that’s enough of that! Meri, say goodbye to Jackson.”

 

“Bye, Jackson! Be nice to my sister!” She waved even though he couldn’t see her.

 

I quickly took him off speakerphone before she could say anything else and brought the phone back up to my ear. “Well, that was interesting.” I watched as Meri skipped down to the water to build a sandcastle.

 

“She’s cute. Children have amazing candor. It’s refreshing.” Jackson managed to get out between chuckles. “So a lot of boys want to be your kissy-face boyfriend?” The chuckles erupted into a full-blown laughing fit.

 

I sighed heavily and eventually growled at him, “If you don’t cut that out, I’ll find a way to reach through this phone and throttle you.” It was an empty threat and we both knew it, though his laughter did slowly die out.

 

“Man, that was funny,” he finally stated, “So back to what time we’re meeting up and what are we doing?”

 

Dammit, we’d spent so long on the phone that by the time I got everything packed up, dropped Meri off, and made it to my place it’d be six o’ clock. Well, there went that plan. It would have to be seven. I cringed. Date-time.

 

“Seven?” I suggested reluctantly.

 

“Okay, sounds good. Are we meeting somewhere, are you driving, am I driving?”

 

“I can drive.” I liked driving and it gave me some modicum of control over the situation.

 

“Now there’s just one more question…what are we doing?”

 

_Fuck. I have to decide? So not fair!_

“Know any hole-in-the-wall bars near your place?” That seemed like a safe bet. Bars were casual, crowded, and clearly not a date-place. I couldn’t take him to Treble though. My co-workers would be weirded out. Hell, I was weirded out, and we hadn’t even gone any place yet.

 

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

 

“Dunno. We’ve never spoken about it.”

 

He snorted and said, “The usual answer is ‘yes.’ And yes, I know some places around here, but if we’re drinking close by why don’t you just park your car here and we’ll walk?”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

Jackson gave me his address then and I hung up the phone.

 

I did a little cha-cha as I walked back to the towels and started packing up.

 

“You’re going on a date, aren’t you?” Meri questioned from behind me.

 

Laughing, I told her, “Nuh-uh, short-stuff. I’m just going to hang out with a friend of mine.”

 

“Suuuure.” She rolled her eyes, something she’d picked up from watching me.

 

“Help me pack up, ya brat,” I teased and she helped me fold the towels up. We lugged everything back up to the house. The kitchen was empty and I wondered where Guadalupe was.

 

Meri and I were halfway to the stairs when I heard it—the quiet clinking of silverware on fine china, and muted voices holding dry conversations that sounded scripted by the world’s most horrible playwright. Mom was home.

 

I shushed Meri and hurried her up the stairs. I tried to follow as quickly and quietly as possible, but I didn’t know this house and ended up making the stairs creak.

 

I froze.

 

So did the noises in the dining room.

 

“Meri, Ashe, is that you?” My mother’s voice was clear and ringing, a mature version of Meri’s voice. “I know you’re here, Ashe. Guadalupe informed me before dinner.” Damn that maid. “Come say hello, darling.”

 

I cursed under my breath and Meri looked at me quizzically. “We’re all covered in sand and we smell like sunblock.”

 

There was a moment of silence and then I heard my mother say, “Well, get cleaned up then.” Elsa detested anything that didn’t fit into her perfectly organized high-society lifestyle. “I don’t have time!” I shouted back, already moving up the stairs again.

 

“I have to shower otherwise Mom’ll be mad,” Meri whispered when we were in the bathroom. “So shower,” I said and shrugged. She frowned at me and said, “I really don’t want to.”

 

“Yeah, but do you want her to throw a fit?”

 

Meri rolled her eyes and turned on the shower.

 

I picked her up and hugged her tightly and rubbed her salty-smelling, windblown hair with my cheek. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered into my neck.

 

“Me too, kiddo. Call me. You’ve got my number.”

 

“Okay.”

 

I closed the bathroom door behind me and descended into hell—I mean the dining room.

 

Elsa’s back was to me, and so I waved at Craig before she saw me. He smiled and nodded his own greeting. My mother, of course, noticed, and turned to face me.

 

My mother was a beautiful woman, even at forty-two. She hardly ever seemed to age. Of course, I’m sure that was in large part due to modern technology. Her unnaturally blond hair was chemically straightened and kept long enough for up-do’s but short enough to be stylish. Her eyes were sky blue. But it was her face that disturbed me the most, because her features were a less refined version of my own.

 

She stood up and smiled her fake smile at me, showing off her veneers and her trendy skirt-and-blazer combo. “Ashe, I haven’t seen you in ages. Come here, darling, let me look at you.” Before I’d even taken a step she’d already assessed my appearance and found it distasteful. I could see it in the way her eyes cooled and her lips thinned into a tight smile.

 

I crossed over to her wearing my black peasant skirt and no shirt—I was still in my bikini top—and my beat-up hemp sandals. She did the polite thing and held me at arm’s length while she kissed my cheek and cooed about how wonderful it was to see me and how we should do lunch sometime.

 

Yeah, whatever.

 

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” I replied, “I’m kind of busy right now.”

 

“Well, there’s no hurry, darling, just whenever you have time. Oh, I know! I’m having a dinner party next week. Why don’t you come? But please, for god’s sake, dress appropriately and do something relatively normal with your hair. You look like a…a gothic hippie hobo-person.”

 

“We’ll see. I gotta go now, my cat’s on fire.” I turned around and waved over my shoulder. “Later, Craig! Enjoy the dinner party with the Save Yourself and Run Foundation!” I heard him laugh into his napkin as I walked out.

 

I chain-smoked in the car all the way to my apartment, knowing I was going to be late meeting Jackson and grumbling under my breath at my mother. I parked like an ass and ran upstairs.

 

“Can’ttalknowinahurry!” I shouted as I tore through the apartment, stripping as I went. I hit my head on the shower caddy when I was washing my hair with one hand and brushing my teeth with the other. I wasn’t going to have time to straighten my hair, do my make-up, and get dressed, so I opted to forego doing my hair.

 

Instead I mashed in some silk drops and let it do its own thing while I frantically applied make-up. I almost flew out of the apartment before I realized I was wearing a towel. “Shit! Clothes! I need clothes!”

 

I could feel Lavender looking at me very oddly from her position on the couch.

 

Ignoring her, I went back to my room to stare blankly at my closet.

 

 _What am I_ doing _? I’m freaking out over nothing!_

I laughed at myself and pulled on a pair of jeans.

 

Then I changed my mind and put on a pair of jeans that made my ass look better.

 

I had already decided to wear lingerie that was lacy and black and gave me amazing cleavage. Just so I’d have a little confidence-booster, a little I-know-something-you-don’t-know.

 

Finally, I put on a low-cut teal tank-top and a black wrap-around sweater.

 

And then I changed my mind about the jeans again and pulled on a pair of black jeans that really gave me a great ass.

 

“Shoes…” I mumbled to myself.

 

I settled on teal flats to match my tank-top. “Okay, done. Going.” Grabbing my purse I left the apartment but not before telling my friend, “I’m meeting Jackson for drinks. I should be home later, but if I’m not don’t call the cops.” She snickered at me and I grinned back shamelessly before I wiggled my fingers at her and ducked out the door.

 

I pulled up at Jackson’s twelve minutes later and called his phone. “Hey, I’m here,” I said when he picked up, “Sorry I’m late. My mother came home and detained me for a bit.”

 

“It’s cool. I’m running late too. Do you want to come up and wait?”

 

“Um…” Shit. I looked down at the half-smoked cigarette in my left hand.

 

“It’s okay, you can smoke up here.”

 

“How…?” Then I happened to look up and catch sight of him waving at me from a second-story window.

 

“Come on up.”

 

“Okay, if you say so.” I hung up the phone, locked my car, and went inside the building and up the stairs. Jackson opened the door before I got there.

 

“Hey, sorry I’m running even later than you. I got distracted by video games.”

 

I laughed and told him, “Hey, it can happen to anyone.” I toed off my flats by the door and noticed that the majority of 100 Monkeys seemed to just be lounging about in the living room. Internal squee!

 

I was introduced and instructed to make myself comfortable while Jackson finished getting dressed.

 

_This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date…_

“You look familiar.”

 

I jerked my head up and focused on the speaker. Jared had his head cocked to the side, staring at me like he was trying to decrypt the binary coding of my innards. “Uh…no, I don’t think so. We’ve definitely never met before.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Fuck! Was it Spanish Inquisition Reenactment Day or something, and no one had bothered to tell me? I realized that I was white-knuckling my knees and fought to slowly relax my body.

 

The Bens were too preoccupied with their game to keep tabs on the conversation.

 

“Seriously, you look really familiar for some reason,” Jared informed me once more and I shrugged.

 

“I have one of those faces?” I responded, but it turned into a question.

 

He laughed and shook his head. “That must be it.”

 

“Is that pizza?” I was suddenly ravenous and spotted the delivery box resting on the coffee table.

 

“Yeah, you want some?” Ben G. offered.

 

“Fuck yeah, I do.” I grabbed a slice and shoved as much into my mouth as I could fit. The more I ate, the less I could hold conversations. It seemed like a wonderful equation to me.

 

“So, you’re Ashe, huh?” Ben asked rhetorically. After all, we’d already been introduced and he knew for a fact that I was Ashe. “Jay’s been talking all about you for the past week.”

 

“Hm.” Monosyllabic answers were all I could manage at that point. I had my mouth stuffed to capacity. In fact, I was chewing extra-slow so I could prolong each bite.

 

“He’s really excited you two are finally getting to hang out.” _Is this where you tell me to be gentle with him because he’s a delicate little flower?_

Just then Jackson emerged from the bowels of the apartment looking totally drool-worthy. Another pair of jeans highlighted his perfect ass…ets. Assets. Shit. Dammit. Even remembering it makes my brain fritz. He was wearing a black dress shirt with a loosely knotted tie and some shiny black shoes. A fedora rested on his head, and good god, I needed to get laid because just the sight of him was making me wet.

 

He smiled at me and I tried to smile, but realized I still had a mouth full of masticated pizza.

 

“Dude, feed your date. She’s hungry,” Ben said casually and I almost choked.

 

I swallowed quickly and stood up. “You don’t have to feed me,” I blurted out, “Really, I’m full now. It’s fine.” I stuck my hands in my back pockets just so I wouldn’t wring them. Jackson looked at me oddly and asked, “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

 

Nodding emphatically I told him, “Yeah, I ate earlier. I just needed a snack.”

 

_This is not a date. This is not a date. This is not a date._

“Okay. I’m ready if you wanted to head out now, or we can sit and watch these idiots play more video games.”

 

“Oh, no, let’s get going,” I replied and put my shoes back on, “It was nice meeting you all.” There were various murmurs of agreement from the guys as I was ushered out the door.

 

“So where are we going?” I asked Jackson when we hit the pavement outside.

 

He smiled at me. “You’ll see.”

 

Did I mention I hate surprises?

 

*

 

TBC…

 

So, now we know a little more about Ashe and why she’s such a head-case.

 

We’ve all met Elsa. Isn’t she just horrible? I can’t stand that woman.

 

Meri (pronounced just like ‘Mary’) is adorable, isn’t she?

 

Up next time: the non-date date.

 

 

 


	5. The Non-Date

Vintage

 

5\. The Non-Date

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Scribe: Lily Zen

 

 

 

 

Notes: This chapter may make Ashe seem like a loon to you, but I swear she’s not. I don’t like dating either, so I totally get where she’s coming from. The entire process just pisses me off and exasperates me and makes me feel awkward, and I’m not naturally an awkward person.

 

 

(Dis)claimer: I own Ashe and all other fictitious people, places, and things.

 

I don’t own J. Rathbone, 100 Monkeys, or any other real people, places, and things.

 

Please don’t be offended by my writing. It’s purely fictitious, purely for fun, and purely not for profit.

 

*

 

We walked through the night companionably, trading stories about recent happenings. Jackson was very curious about Meri and I tried to answer his questions truthfully without giving away too many details about my messed up family. I thought it was a little too early in our acquaintance to get into all that. Hell, as far as I was concerned, it was always too early to be telling people about that shit.

 

I let him lead me down the street and wondered where we were going, even though I kept my questions to myself.

 

“Ah, here we are,” he said, interrupting the conversation as he reached to pull the door open.

 

He stood off to the side with the door held open, and I raised an eyebrow at him. “Ladies first.”

 

_Ohhh._

 

Don’t laugh, but it was the first time a guy had ever held open a door for me. I was totally weirded out, but in an ‘oh-isn’t-that-charming’ kind of way.

 

So I skirted around Jackson and went inside. The first thing I noticed was that it was not a dive bar. It was a lot nicer than that. There was mood lighting and music that didn’t come from a jukebox and menus on the tables.

 

_Not a date. Not a date. Not a date._

As long as I kept to my mantra, everything would be fine.

 

I turned to Jackson and asked him with a teasing tone of voice, “Weren’t we just going to a dive bar?”

 

He shrugged and told me, “You looked so nice I thought you deserved a more appropriate setting.”

 

My eyes rolled before I could stop them and I let slip out, “Your effort’s noted and appreciated, but not necessary.” I softened my words with a smile as I hiked myself up onto a pub chair.

 

Jackson’s response was to stick his tongue out at me and blurt out, “Tough crap. Deal with it.”

 

I cocked an eyebrow at his antics and tried not to smile too widely. “Really, Jackson, what’s next? Are you going to start giving yourself cootie shots?”

 

He laughed at me and stated, “Well, as long as we’re retrogressing to elementary school, I’m telling the teacher that you were mean to me.”

 

“Whatever, dude. I’ll just charm my way out of it as usual and then beat you up at recess.”

 

“Oooh.”

 

“That’s right. Don’t mess with me.” I flexed playfully and we both cracked up. In the midst of our fit of laughter, a waitress came up to our table and smiled at us.

 

“Hi, I’m Stephanie. I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”

 

Her smile looked perma-glued on, but she seemed nice enough. “Um, can I just get a glass of water for now? I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,” I responded.

 

She nodded and asked, “And for you, sir?”

 

“Jack and Coke, please.”

 

The server—after all, that is the PC term, isn’t it?—strode away to get our drinks and I hurriedly grabbed a menu, perusing the alcohol section. I didn’t want to get wasted (or did I?), so I was scanning their beer menu.

 

I didn’t see anything I was particularly fond of. My favorites are mostly imported and hard to find. In the end when the server came back with Jackson’s high ball and my water I just ordered a Miller High Life on tap.

 

There was a moment of awkward silence during which I kept up my mental mantra and pretended to browse the actual menu. It was typical bar food—burgers, wings, pizza, nachos, et cetera. My appetite seemed to be making another appearance and I was just about to suggest we split a pizza when Jackson spoke.

 

“You seem kind of lost in thought over there. Are you alright? Is tonight not a good night? We can do this some other time if you want.”

 

I glanced up at him and made eye contact for the first time in a few minutes. The expression on his face was concerned, bordering on worried. Shit, I was acting weird, wasn’t I? I tried to shake myself out of my odd little mood before I responded.

 

“Um…” I was nibbling on my lower lip, a bad habit that seemed to pop up whenever I was stressed, “It’s really nothing, I guess.” Sighing, I ordered myself to at least be a little honest with him. I was starting…whatever this was…off on a bad note. “I think I’m just kind of worried.”

 

His eyebrows lifted as he asked, “About…?”

 

“Being out. With you.”

 

“Oh.” Abruptly he looked crestfallen and I felt like I’d just run over his puppy.

 

“No—I mean—ugh!” Why was this so difficult? I just didn’t understand where my head was at! “It’s not you, or your fault, or whatever. It’s me. It’s totally me.”

 

“Are we breaking up already?” Jackson questioned me with a hint of a smirk.

 

Laughing nervously, I told him, “See, that’s totally it right there. I don’t really do this.”

 

“Eat dinner in a pub?”

 

I shook my head and looked at him sternly, trying to tell him with my gaze alone to stop being cheeky and entertaining when I was feeling like I was. “I don’t usually eat dinner at pubs with attractive, young actors that I just met, meet their friends, talk about my life… Any of this.” I gestured vaguely with one hand between him and I. “Whatever this is.”

 

“So…”

 

“Jackson, what is this?” I had to say it, I had to ask it or I was going to go insane, “Is this a date?” I cringed subconsciously with my use of the d-word.

 

My companion was a little wide-eyed. He seemed stunned by my sudden seriousness. Things thus far had been lighthearted between us—all joking, smiles, and easy camaraderie. I could understand him being taken aback by my line of questioning.

 

“I hadn’t really put a label on it yet,” Jackson admitted, “I like you. I find you attractive and interesting. I want to impress you, so yes…I think this would qualify as a date.”

 

_Crap._

 

“Are you okay with that, Ashe?” he continued. However, he must have been more observant than I gave him credit for as he said, “Because you look a little green right now.”

 

That was an understatement. Panic was exploding inside of me, racing through my nerves. The fight or flight impulse was there. I kept myself rooted to my chair through sheer force of will.

 

“Ashe?”

 

“I don’t know,” I croaked finally, “I--“

 

And then I admitted the unthinkable. “I’ve never really been on a date.”

 

Jackson looked shocked. “Never?”

 

I shook my head. “I’ve always avoided things like this in the past.”

 

“Why?” His brow was furrowed as he tried to understand, but there was no way he’d be able to unless I poured out my heart and soul to him—but I’d never let anybody that close to me before, so why would I start with someone who was still a perfect stranger to me?

 

So I shrugged my shoulders and gave a vague cop-out answer. “Commitment issues, I guess.”

 

He nodded slowly as he gathered his thoughts, and then finally he offered, “If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

 

I laughed and shook my head rapidly back and forth. “No, I’d like to stay. I think you’re cool, and I’d like to see where this could go.” That was the best I could do, the most I could afford to put out there at the time. I felt like crying because I was a failure as a woman, as a human being, but I held it all in check.

 

The server chose that horrible moment to come back to our table and asked, “You guys want anything to eat, or are you good with the drinks?”

 

I took a deep breath and Jackson looked at me questioningly (and I think with a little bit of pity). “Do you want to split a pizza?” I heard my voice ask, a friendly smile in place.

 

Jackson smiled at me and responded, “Sure. What kind do you want? I’m good with almost anything.”

 

“Extra cheese, pineapple, and bacon.” I gave him my best give-me-what-I-want smile.

 

He laughed. “If that’s what you want.”

 

“And some ranch dressing on the side, please,” I told the waitress, and she nodded succinctly. Yeah, I’m sick and I like weird food combinations on my pizza. So sue me.

 

“I’m glad you’re not bailing,” Jackson confided in me once the server had left.

 

I smiled shyly while biting my lip. “Me too.”

 

“To not bailing though I ambushed you with a date.”

 

“To not bailing,” I agreed, and we clinked glasses. I chugged about half of my pilsner much to Jackson’s apparent amusement. “What?” I asked defensively when I put down my beer.

 

“You drink like a frat guy.” He was chuckling to himself.

 

“I do not! I just…Okay, maybe I do.”

 

“Were you a party girl in high school?” His eyes told me he already knew my answer.

 

“Quite possibly.”

 

“Yeah, you were.” He smirked at me.

 

I broke under his gaze and almost shouted, “You win! I was a party girl! Hell, I still might qualify as one.” Then he was laughing at me and I was laughing at me, and it was all good.

 

With my earlier admission, the tension seemed to disperse. I could breathe easier and relax back into my seat. Jackson was fun and witty and a little dorky, and he made me feel at ease without really trying. We joked back and forth for awhile and traded stories about high school. It turned out that I was not the only reformed (yeah right) rebel seated at our table.

 

“You kept your booze in shampoo bottles?!” I cried incredulously, “Dude, that’s like…sheer fucking genius! Who in their right mind would check a shampoo bottle for alcohol?”

 

“Exactly!” He was laughing as he remembered, “So what about you? Where’d you keep your booze stashed?”

 

“Keep in mind that I didn’t go to a boarding school. I just kept mine in my closet—I had this huge walk-in and I saved up money for a dorm fridge. One day when my mom wasn’t home, me and my friend, Alex, brought it in and set it up in there. I kept three things in that fridge—beer, liquor, and cartons of cigarettes. Oh, man, but I used to buy Patron XO and take it to school in this huge travel mug and if anybody asked I told them it was iced coffee.”

 

Jackson cracked up and said, “Now _that_ is genius!”

 

I shook my head and chuckled at my stupid teenage-self. “I remember one day I drank too much at school. I had study hall in the auditorium and I ended up passing out behind the stage curtains. The drama club was very surprised to see me after school!”

 

“I bet!”

 

The pizza showed up then and I dug in voraciously, dipping my slice in the ranch dressing. “Mm…” I mumbled to myself, “Thish ish frakking good!” My (gulp) date smiled at me indulgently.

 

“I’m glad you think so.”

 

I swallowed my food and asked rhetorically, “Why have I never been here before?”

 

“You’ve lived here for awhile. It’s only natural that you’ve developed a routine by now—favorite local haunts. This place is close to my apartment, so I come in every once in awhile, and they do have good pizza. You, I must assume, do not live near here, and I’d imagine you don’t hang out down here often.”

 

“Eh,” I shrugged, “To be honest, I live further out. I’m almost in Inglewood. I did the whole ‘living in the heart of it all’ thing for awhile and hated it. First it was WeHo, then Santa Monica, and then I lived in Little Tokyo for awhile—which I actually did like, but it was cramped and I don’t speak Japanese so communicating with anyone was difficult. Then Lavender was looking for a place and her boyfriend told us how his boss was trying to rent the apartment above his shop. It was in our price range and it all sounded legit, so we went to check it out and bam, now I live in South L.A.”

 

“Wow. That’s kind of a drive then, hey?”

 

“Honestly, I’d rather have to drive into the city than live in it.” I smirked. “I really, really, really hate it.”

 

“So why do you still live here then?”

 

I shrugged my shoulders and stretched a little bit. “I guess I’ve got history here. My friends are here, for one, and Meri. My jobs are alright and so is my apartment. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ as the old adage goes.”

 

“That’s logical.”

 

“I know. Besides, where else would I go?”

 

“I don’t know. Where would you go?”

 

I knew the answer instinctively—I’d move back to Tampa. But that wasn’t really an option. Besides, my grandparents were getting older. I only saw them once a year but each time I noticed more frailty in my grandmother and more lines on my grandfather’s face. Eventually they would die, and then I would have nothing holding me to Tampa either.

 

I could go back to Vancouver, live close to Dad again, but like I already said, I hated Vancouver and probably always would. The only thing good about Vancouver was Dad and Quinn—but Quinn immigrated to the U.S. awhile ago. He moved in with his girlfriend. And Dad had a new wife now and was pretty preoccupied with her. The idea of being underfoot, being the extra baggage from his second marriage, didn’t appeal to me.

 

So I smiled and said, “World’s a big place and I’ve got itchy feet. If I started moving, I’d probably never stop.” It was an easier answer than trying to explain my melancholic thought process.

 

“That I can understand,” Jackson told me, “That’s part of why I love my work so much, aside from the artistic aspect—I get to travel a lot, see different cities. I’m scheduled to film in Greenland in a few weeks—should be interesting.”

 

“Nice,” I said, “Take lots of pictures. I’ve been to Canada and Mexico before, but never off-continent. It’d be really cool to experience Greenland, even vicariously.”

 

Jackson made a face at me. “Really? Greenland? You want to go to Greenland? It’s cold there. Looks like Haagen-Dazs ice cream. There, you’ve now experienced Greenland at its finest.”

 

Laughing, I told him, “No, I haven’t! I’m sure there’s way more to it than just the climate and the geography. Culturally, man! The culture is what it’s all about. Even the most dramatically different-looking location would be boring if the culture there were exactly the same as it is here. Then there would be no point for anyone to travel anywhere.” I stuck my thumb down and blew a raspberry. “I know I wouldn’t waste the dinero.”

 

“Okay, you have a point.”

 

“I usually do.”

 

“So you’re the opinionated type?”

 

I rolled my eyes unintentionally and shot back, “Sweetheart, you tell me one person who isn’t. Complete apathy is impossible. Were that the case, it’d be like that scene from _Serenity_ when the crew finds out that the whole reason an entire planet full of humans let themselves die was because the Alliance unleashed a chemical into the atmosphere that took away everyone’s…I’m totally taking a side-trip into geek-land, aren’t I? Okay, that’s enough of that. New topic!”

 

“No, no,” he was laughing again, “That was fascinating. I’ll have to rent it.”

 

“You’ve never seen _Serenity_?” Among my social circle, it was more blasphemous than…the worst blasphemous thing you could think of. “What about the T.V. show, _Firefly_?” When he shook his head in the negative, I gasped. “Oh, you poor child. We shall have to educate you.”

 

It was a good thing I owned the boxed set.

 

“Alright, but we should probably do it before I head out to Greenland. I’ll be there for awhile.” Jackson’s smile took on a self-satisfied edge, and I just realized that I had subconsciously arranged a second date. Holy fuck!

 

I bit my lip and tried to remember Lavender’s schedule and when she’d be out of the apartment and what my schedule was. Of course, that was assuming we were having the marathon at my place. I wasn’t particularly fond of taking my things to other people’s houses or loaning them out. You always run the risk of forgetting, or losing, or having them get destroyed. Finally, I just told him, “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you on that.” He nodded.

 

Plus, I admitted to myself, I was nervous about being around his roommates again. Granted, they’d given me nothing to hold against them, but…well, they were his friends and I guess I wanted them to approve of me in a…it’s-okay-if-you-date-slash-fuck-my-friend-slash-roomie kind of way. I’ve never had a problem getting along with people before, but it seemed to matter more now that I make a good impression, and I knew for a fact that my first impression hadn’t been stellar. I had been a stupid, nervous mess.

 

Jackson and I finished eating in relative peace interspersed with easy conversation. Before I knew it I’d finished two drinks and was working on a third, the pizza tray having been cleared away. I glanced at my watch to check on the time.

 

“Dude,” I blurted out, “I kinda have to head home soon. I’ve got work tomorrow at ten.”

 

“What time is it?” Jackson inquired even as he whipped out his cell to check. “Damn, it’s after eleven already?”

 

“Yep. Time flies.”

 

“Sure does.” He signaled our server for the bill…

 

Now, I’d read enough Cosmo in my lifetime (one issue when I was sixteen in the waiting room of Planned Parenthood) to know that when you’re out having dinner with a guy The Bill is a Big Thing.

 

Like a Test that women do.

 

Stfu, men have Tests too. My friends admitted to it!

 

So yeah, the bill is on its way over and I have about two point three seconds to decide whether or not I’m going to play the Game and do the Test. Ladies, you know exactly what I’m talking about…

 

_The bill is coming. Woman slowly reaches for her purse—slowly, to see if Man is going to pick up the bill first. If not, he is a mooch and you should get rid of him. If he does, Woman offers to split it. If he insists on paying, he is a keeper. If he acquiesces to splitting, then he is a cheapskate and you should get rid of him._

_Then there’s the Tip Test. If Man pays the bill, check and see how much he leaves for a tip. General rule of thumb is twenty percent of the bill, so two dollars for every ten spent. If he under-tips (and knows it), he’s a cheapskate (or an asshole) and you should get rid of him. If he over-tips (and the service was not exemplary), he’s an idiot who can’t do math and you should get rid of him. If he tips properly, then he’s a keeper._

Like I said, I had two point three seconds to think about all this and decide what I was going to do. In the end, I decided Cosmo fills your head with nonsense. Imperiously, I extended my hand with my credit card perched between my fingers. The waitress stopped and smiled at me knowingly before she grabbed my credit card and sauntered off with a quick, “I’ll be right back!” shot over her shoulder.

 

I studiously avoided looking at Jackson while I finished my beer and when I looked up he was kind of glaring at me. “What?” I began defensively.

 

“I asked you out. I’m supposed to pay.”

 

So I mimicked his response from earlier and stuck my tongue out at him. “Tough shit. Deal with it.” Besides, I’d always been kind of a feminist—defying traditional gender roles was what I did best. But he looked pouty, so I told him as a condolence, “If it makes you feel better you can buy the take-out when we have our _Firefly_ marathon.”

 

“Gee, thanks for that. You sure know how to make me feel all appreciated and manly.”

 

I couldn’t help teasing him a bit more. “Would fixing something help recover some of your masculine pride? I suppose I could clog up a drain or something. Maybe fuck up my garbage disposal. Would that help, sweetpea?”

 

Jackson scowled even more as the waitress returned with my credit slip. I signed their copy on auto-pilot and stuck mine in my wallet. I rolled my eyes at his behavior when she left. “Seriously, Jackson, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll hit me back next time, whatever, it’s all good.”

 

Finally, he seemed to deflate and shot me a wry grin. “You seem to have forgotten that I’m a southern boy at heart. My parents raised me to treat a lady right.”

 

Chuckling, I responded with, “Darling, I may have the proper genitalia, but rest assured I am no lady.” I hopped off the chair and said, “But if it makes you feel better you can open the door for me—that was just adorable!”

 

And he did open the door for me, which I laughed at. Then he offered me his arm, which made me laugh even harder and say, “Why thank you, darlin’. I jus’ don’t know what I’d do without your strong arm to keep me from havin’ a spell.” In fact, I kept up the Southern Belle act all the way back to his apartment, mostly because it was seriously cracking me up.

 

What really surprised me though was when Jackson played along like he was Rhett Butler from _Gone with the Wind_ (which I’ve always secretly loved even though Scarlett embodies everything I hate in other women and I think Rhett’s a bastard). People were looking at us oddly as we walked down the street talking like plantation peeps. Me, being me, I just had to respond with things like, “Well, I never!” and “The nerve of that (wo)man!” and “Heavens to Betsy! You’d think these Northerners had never heard proper English before!”

 

Of course, the effect was sometimes ruined by my own riotous laughter. I was certainly entertaining my (gulp) date with my antics. He was, however, a professional actor and was considerably better at it than I was, so he managed to keep a straight face most of the time.

 

Finally, we arrived outside of his place and my laughter died down to intermittent giggles. “You do a fairly good impression of Scarlett O’Hara,” Jackson told me.

 

“How’d you know she was my inspiration?”

 

“’I’ll think about that tomorrow.’ And when you started saying ‘fiddle-dee-dee’ a lot. Oh, and let’s not forget the vague reference to wearing the drapes.”

 

I laughed. “Well, yeah. She’s pretty much the only southern woman I know of. Well, besides my gran, but Florida is a little different from The South.”

 

“True enough.”

 

We were both stalling, and I knew it.

 

It was the end of the official date and I had walked him home—fuck you, gender roles! Now he was shifting from foot to foot wondering if he should kiss me good night. I was smiling on the inside, contemplating throwing him a lifeline.

 

Fuck it, I was going to do it.

 

“So I bought your punk-ass dinner AND I walked you to your door. I think I was a good boyfriend and deserve a little reward.” It was cheeky and demanding, but it took the burden off of his shoulders while saving me from looking like an idiot.

 

I was smirking and poised on the balls of my feet, bouncing in place anxiously. It reminded me of Tigger.

 

“Oh, you want a kiss goodnight?” he asked rhetorically.

 

 _Well, duh, otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything._ “I was thinking more along the lines of some cunnilingus in the car, but hey, a kiss’ll do.” _What? My guys tell me that they get goodnight head all the time. It’s about time the male sex started reciprocating!_

Jackson looked completely torn in that moment as to whether or not I was serious—I was, but if it weirded him out I supposed I could turn it into a joke. I flicked my eyes heavenward for a split-second—my patience was wearing thin and we’d only been on one date! How in the seven hells was I supposed to make it through the second unscathed?

 

I curled my hand around his tie and used it to tug him towards me, and all of the sudden I remembered one of Rhett’s lines from the movie. It seemed terribly appropriate (and terribly funny), so I spewed it out without a second thought. “’Here’s a soldier of the South who loves you, Scarlett. Wants to feel your arms around him, wants to carry your kisses into battle with him. Never mind about loving me, you’re a woman sending a soldier to his death with a beautiful memory. Scarlett! Kiss me! Kiss me…once…’”

 

Jackson raised an eyebrow at me, and asked dryly, “So now I’m Scarlett?”

 

Automatically, I released his tie and held up my hands, shouting a wordless exclamation of frustration. I took two quick steps back and unlocked my car. “Fine, I can see that I’ve emasculated you to an unbearable degree this evening. Call me if you ever recover.”

 

I spun on my heel and began walking away only to find myself halted and yanked back around. “Wait! I’m sorry. I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”

 

My voice was drier than the Mojave Desert when I responded with, “You think?”

 

Jackson laughed nervously and admitted, “You’ve kind of got me spun around, Ashe. I don’t really understand you yet. I guess I just had this idea of how I thought you were through our time on the phone, and…I mean, you are like that to an extent, but there’s…a lot more to you—you’re unique, which is awesome, but it takes some getting used to.”

 

I could feel myself pulling back—not physically, because he still had my hand in his. I didn’t want to stand here on this sidewalk anymore. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to touch him, or anyone else. I wanted to slip inside of myself where things were safe and I didn’t have to deal with judgments or recriminations or self-doubt.

 

I slipped on my public face, the one I used when I dealt with strangers at cocktail parties—a polite smile and cool eyes, my posture impeccable, limbs relaxed. I was done feeling out of sorts that night.

 

“Have a good night, Jackson.” Twisting my hand just so, I pulled away and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. I didn’t look at his face because I didn’t want to see what he was thinking. I gave a short wave over my shoulder as I slid in the driver’s seat and took off.

 

It was then that I vowed never to date again, because obviously I was a failure at it. When I got home I sat in my car for awhile and chain-smoked. Then I went upstairs and got stoned and brought the bottle of Cabo to bed with me.

 

_Fuck dating, and fuck him too. Fuck this entire night._

I set my alarm, and drank until I was sleepy and fucked up. Then I slept on top of my blankets, still fully clothed—I hadn’t even taken off my shoes.

 

*

 

TBC…

 

 

That didn’t quite go how I was expecting it to. I’m…not sure what else to say.

 

…I’m sorry?

 

Also, Fake Jackson (as all references in author commentaries to character-J. Action shall henceforth be known) is not as sexist as I may have led you to believe in this chapter. He just has some misguided notions of what ‘feminine’ is—it’s not his fault, that’s just his upbringing. If you couldn’t already tell, this is going to be a huge hurdle for Fake Jackson to overcome.

 

In addition, I would like to officially state that I have no idea if the real Jackson Rathbone would think/behave in such a manner. As I already mentioned, I don’t know him and therefore can’t really say. I’m just going based off of assumptions and experiences I’ve had with other dudes who have been raised in conservative, Southern families.

 

Finally, I would like to state that I do not condone the abuse of alcohol or other drugs. What Ashe just did—drinking in her room alone—is very unhealthy behavior. No, Ashe is not an alcoholic. No, she will not become an alcoholic. What Ashe does have is a problem with coping mechanisms. Instead of dealing with things in a healthy way, Ashe tends to fall back on old habits—drugs, drinking, sex, etc.—to buffer herself from her own emotional responses.

 

However, if you (or someone you know) does have a drinking or drug problem, please seek help immediately. There are numerous groups and hotlines nationwide, such as AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) and NA (Narcotics Anonymous), as well as local support groups. I’d imagine you can find the specifics on the internet, and they usually have pamphlets and such at the doctor’s office. You can also speak to a physician regarding treatment options.

 

/PSA


	6. Roaring Twenties

Vintage

 

6\. Roaring Twenties

 

Rating: NC-17

 

Penned By: Lily Zen

 

 

(Dis)claimer: Fake things are mine. Real things are not.

 

Please do not be offended by my writing. It is purely fictitious, purely for fun, and purely not for profit.

 

*

 

I was a fucking idiot.

 

I knew it when I watched Ashe’s eyes grow distant, her body language changing as some other woman took her place. I was kicking myself in the ass before she’d even pulled out of my grasp.

 

Her voice was so cold when she told me, “Have a good night, Jackson.” She was gone before I could say anything more.

 

A thousand times that night I thought about calling her, apologizing profusely. Then I thought maybe we were just too different and I shouldn’t even try. I waffled back and forth on my decision, and it disturbed me in my sleep. I wanted her ferociously and liked her quite immensely. It was clear though that there were hidden hurts within her, wounds that opened easily.

 

I wasn’t sure if it was worth it—worth the time, the patience it would take. I had a lot going on in my life at the time—my career was taking off, my band’s popularity was rapidly increasing. I was leaving town again in two weeks to film in Greenland, and then I was hitting the road with 100 Monkeys. How on earth would I manage a developing relationship with a difficult woman?

 

It was poor timing, and I was beginning to think my own taste in women was somewhat perverse—aside from some of our hobbies, Ashe and I were very different people, and though I’d like to have said otherwise, our upbringings were almost polar opposites.

 

Even in the morning, after I’d woken up, I didn’t know what to do. Should I just let her go, pretend we’d never met? That I’d never taken her out to dinner, learned that she’d never been on a date (what woman her age has never been on a date?), watched her smile and laugh, and listened to her melodramatic Scarlett impression?

 

I didn’t know, but I knew I couldn’t let Ashe fade into just a memory without a proper apology. So at eight in the morning I sent her a text (I know that was cowardly, but I wasn’t sure if she’d answer the phone)—very simple, to the point—all it read was “I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

My phone was vibrating next to my head. Dazedly, I realized that it had been doing so periodically for awhile. I groaned and cracked my eyes open. My eyelashes were sticky from the mascara I’d worn to bed. I stared at my cell blankly, turning it over in my hands, contemplating whether or not I wanted to open it.

 

Just as I was teetering on the edge, my bedroom door was opened and Stephen came striding in. “Oh, good,” he began cheerily—he must’ve gotten laid last night, “You’re already awake.” He sat down on my bed and his eyes locked on the bottle of Cabo snuggled up on the other pillow. Immediately, his face dimmed, eyes turning sympathetic. “Bad night?”

 

“Bad night,” I agreed, subconsciously still turning my phone in my hands, “Lavender gone already?”

 

“Yeah, she’s at the gallery today.”

 

Stephen was watching me with soft eyes, and I wondered briefly what he was seeing. “Scoot over,” he finally said, and his tone brooked no argument. So I moved, sharing the other pillow with the Cabo Wabo, while Stephen lay down next to me. His arms were forceful as he pulled me close and tucked my head under his chin.

 

For the first time in my life, I allowed someone to hold me and accepted the comfort that they offered. We were quiet for a long time, just breathing and being. The noon light was making its way through my window when I finally found the courage to speak.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what prompted this?”

 

“You looked like you needed it,” Stephen said softly.

 

I made a non-committal noise and my phone vibrated again, reminding me that I had a new text message.

 

Stephen began absently stroking my hair, the action reminding me so much of my grandfather that for an instant I had to fight back tears. “You should probably check that,” he began saying, “It could be really important.” My hands were frozen, so my friend gently plucked the phone from my hands and opened the text for me. I didn’t look at the screen while he read it to himself, and felt relief when he closed it.

 

“It’s from Jackson. He said ‘I’m sorry.’”

 

Another monosyllabic grunt escaped me.

 

“So, you want to talk about it?”

 

I shook my head in the negative, but to my own surprise words began to pour out of my mouth. “It was awful. I met him at his apartment and was introduced to his roommates. We walked to a pub nearby—I was so nervous I didn’t even catch the name—and had pizza and beer. We talked for a long while; I told him I’d never been on a date. He was surprised. The bill came and I paid because Cosmo makes women retarded. He was upset that I paid, pouting. It seemed like he got over it though after I cracked a couple jokes and acted like an idiot on the walk back to his place. I wanted him to kiss me, but he was taking so long to make up his mind, and you know I’m not a patient person, so I took control…”

 

“You’ve always been a bit of a control-freak,” Stephen said, though there was a smile in his voice.

 

Snorting through my nose, I said, “I guess so. Well, anyway, earlier on I’d been impersonating Scarlett O’Hara—“

 

“Jesus,” my friend groaned, “Ashe, you’re my friend, but if you ever make me watch that movie with you again, I just might have to kill you.” I’d made him watch it with me four times by then, and I knew if I begged enough, he’d watch it again.

 

“Shut up. As I was saying, I was doing my best Scarlett, and as I was reeling him in by his tie, I decided to throw out one of Rhett’s quotes—I thought it was cute. He didn’t quite agree. So I got pissed off and left. The end.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you want me to go beat his ass?”

 

“No. I just want to forget about it.”

 

“Him, you mean?”

 

“Yeah,” I whispered.

 

Stephen shrugged his shoulders with his arms still wrapped around me. “Hey, dude, it’s none of my business if you want to forget his existence, but I just want to point out to you once again that he is sorry.”

 

I was quiet as I thought about that, wondered whether I could be a big enough person and call him back. _I’ll think about that tomorrow._

“So what the hell were you barging into my room for anyway?” I asked Stephen abruptly, pulling out of his embrace and sitting in the lotus position.

 

“We’re playing again at Treble tonight. It’s Roaring Twenties night. You don’t work, do you?”

 

I shook my head back and forth. “I’m at Eclectic ‘til five today, but after that I’m free.”

 

“Cool. Are you going to come play then?”

 

I nodded and stated, “Fuck yeah, I am. You know Lavender doesn’t have my vocal range.” With that, I crawled over his legs and got out of bed. Sliding open the closet door, I started thinking about what I should wear to work and what I wanted to wear to Treble. “Get out of my bed, Stephen. Go home. Shower. You smell like stale sex.”

 

He laughed at me and I heard the sound of fabric shifting as he stood up. “Alright, you win. Have fun at work today.”

 

“I’ll see you later.”

 

“Yup. Oh, and Louis told me to give you a message next time I saw you.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“’Homeslice, what the fuck? I haven’t heard from you in forever. Call me, Lovely, and let’s hang soon. I miss my favorite chica.’”

 

“Nice. I’ll give him a call later.”

 

“Good.” With that, my bedroom door closed, and shortly thereafter I heard Stephen leave the apartment altogether.

 

I kept myself occupied by making french toast for breakfast and spending some quality time with Raphael. In the bathroom, I showered with quick efficiency and did my hair and make-up, paying more attention to detail than a professional would.

 

By that time, it was close to ten, so I threw on my clothes—tight, ripped jeans, and a black pin-striped vest. My ass-kicking boots and a studded belt completed the look, and I picked jewelry to match. I was about to put on a fedora, but it reminded me of Jackson, so I tossed it into the back of my closet.

 

I put my phone in my pocket and grabbed my bag. All I needed to do to go to work was head down the stairs. I could slip in the back door—Rusty didn’t mind.

 

The back door opened up into the meager employee area. The tiny room contained a folding card table and two chairs, a microwave, a drawing table and Rusty’s computer equipment, a shelving unit that held all of our inventory, and a refrigerator. I put my bag on one of the chairs and walked out into the business area. First was the work area. We had two tattoo stations and the piercing station. Then the front counters that held all of our jewelry and sample books. My desk was perpendicular to the counters, close to the front. I was the first thing people saw when they walked in the door.

 

Rusty was unlocking the front door and flicking the open sign on.

 

“Morning,” I called while I turned on the register and ducked down to grab the money from the safe, “So what’s on the books for today?”

 

“You tell me,” Rusty rumbled.

 

Rusty was another one of those huge, hulking guys that seemed to insinuate themselves in my life. He was an aging biker with ties to the Hell’s Angels. Nobody fucked with Eclectic because they didn’t want to deal with the repercussions. Because of that, it was probably the safest place I’d ever lived—I wasn’t too concerned with the legalities of vigilantism.

 

I closed the register and opened the appointment book to today’s date. “Hm...your first appointment’s at ten-thirty—who set that up? I’ve told everybody not to book ‘til eleven—tattoo consultation. That means it’s either a cover-up or a virgin.” Rusty and I both snickered at that.

 

“I do love the virgins,” Rusty told me in his gravelly voice.

 

“Mm, the way they jump and squeal…”

 

“And don’t forget the tears.”

 

“How could I? I’ve held more hands working here than I have in my whole life.”

 

Rusty gave me his booming laugh from the work area as he double-checked the supplies. “What’s next?”

 

“At eleven you’ve got Maria, her pattern’s on file. One o’ clock is Warren, also on file. That’s it for your scheduled appointments. Gray is coming at one right? He’s got two appointments—one tat, one piercing. There’s some free time today in case we get walk-ins.”

 

“Thanks, kid.”

 

When I first started working at Eclectic, the operation was a mess. Within six months, I had reorganized and updated everything, initiated new business policies, updated our equipment—mostly because I couldn’t stand the complete chaos of it all. Rusty, for the most part, indulged me. Three months after that he let me take over promotion, which was fun, but I was still essentially just a secretary.

 

Moving on autopilot, I cleaned the cases off with Windex and reorganized the sample books. I turned the radio on and checked the phone messages, returning those calls that needed to be returned. I also brewed a pot of coffee in the public area and set out snacks—cookies, fruit, things that would bring your blood sugar up.

 

At ten-twenty, a young Latino girl came through the door wearing too-tight capris and a t-shirt from Baby Phat. She shifted hesitantly and I smiled warmly at her. “You must be Catarina. I’m Ashe, welcome to Eclectic. Please, have a seat. Rusty will be with you in a minute. Can I get you something to drink while you wait? Coffee? Coke?”

 

“Coke, please,” she said as she sat down on one of the couches.

 

I swept into the back, telling Rusty that his consult was there, and snagging a Coke from the employee room. “Here you go,” I told her when I got back. I always offered something to drink mostly out of habit—it was good for people to get their blood sugar up before a tat (or piercing). It took less time for them to recover then.

 

Rusty came lumbering out of the work area just after the girl had popped the top on her soda, and greeted her. She looked intimidated, but hadn’t bolted yet. In the past couple of years, Eclectic had developed a great local reputation—people were willing to do a little more for quality work, and a lot of people were good about making appointments (after I’d beat it into their heads for almost four years). I tuned out the rest of the appointment, already knowing the routine by heart.

 

Instead, I read my work-novel, which I kept next to the register.

 

That was pretty much my whole day right there, aside from my lunch hour during which I called Louis to chitchat, and played Doctor Mario with Gray. Pretty boring, right?

 

At five o’ clock, I filled out my time-card and said goodbye to Rusty and Gray, and bounded up the stairs to my apartment.

 

Much to my surprise, Lavender was already home from work. “Hey!” I greeted her as I walked through the kitchen, “How was your day?”

 

“Fuck-all boring,” she sighed in response, chopping up vegetables on the cutting board, “Yours?”

 

“Same!” I called from my bedroom as I slipped off my shoes and threw my bag on my bed. Walking back out to the kitchen, I swiped a piece of red pepper from the board and popped it in my mouth.

 

“So how was your evening with Jackson?” Lavender asked me in a deliberately casual voice. As if that wasn’t enough of a clue, she didn’t mention sex—which is what we always mentioned the day after a night out with a new toy.

 

I sighed heavily. “Lavender, you can’t bullshit me—you already know exactly how it went. I swear you and Stephen gossip like old women.”

 

She glanced at me with a tiny smirk and said, “That may be true. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry your night was shitty. Some guys just can’t handle girls like us.”

 

Hopping up on the counter, I continued to pick raw vegetables from Lavender’s pile. “What kind of girls are we anyway, Lavender?” As I chewed, the crunching sounded abnormally loud to me.

 

My best friend smiled to herself and said, “We’re like wild horses—hard to catch and even harder to tame. You need a firm, gentle hand and lots of patience.” She was quiet for awhile longer and then murmured absently, “Or maybe we’re more like horses that were already broken—now we need to be fixed.”

 

I wondered what was going on in Lavender’s life that she wasn’t telling me. It wasn’t like her to think so introspectively, much less philosophically. Instead, I questioned, “Like Black Beauty?”

 

“Exactly,” she stated and beamed at me, “So it’s Roaring Twenties night. I’m making a stir fry. After dinner you want to help me do my hair?”

 

“What do you want to do with it?”

 

“I want to get that whole ‘20s wave-thing going on, and some sort of up-‘do.”

 

I thought about how we could do that with such a limited amount of time while Lavender cooked dinner. “We don’t have time for me to finger-wave it. We’ll have to use the hot rolls.”

 

“Whatever you want to do, lady. My head is your canvas.”

 

Swinging my legs back and forth on the counter, I asked Lavender, “I realize I’ve been pretty distracted lately. What’s been going on with you?”

 

Her eyes shot me a swift sidelong glance, “Why? What have you heard?”

 

“Nothing, dude! I just noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Stephen.” I held my hands up in the universal gesture of innocence, and Lavender sighed heavily.

 

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know. I thought, you know, maybe he got it this time, that he knew it was just sex, just fun, and he’s been really good about not pressing for more.” She put the cover on the rice pan and set her stirring spoon down on the counter top, silent.

 

“But…?” I prompted.

 

Lavender gave me an anguished look and said, “I like waking up next to him, and when he’s not here I feel lost, and I don’t know what this is, and he’s got a date tomorrow night with some girl he met at the library.”

 

_Oh. This is serious._

 

She ran her fingers through her hair and asked me, “Ashe, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

 

“I wish I could tell you. Maybe you just want more from him.”

 

“Like…monogamy? Exclusivity?”

 

“Yeah, I guess…or maybe you’re just getting possessive—you don’t want him for keeps, but you don’t want anyone else to have him either.” I shrugged my already-hunched shoulders.

 

“I guess so. I’ve never been like that though.”

 

“Except when you thought Kyle Ronson was messing around with me too,” I teased. It had the desired effect and made her laugh.

 

“Wow, I’d almost completely forgotten about Kyle.”

 

Kyle was the reason Lavender and I met. It was sophomore year and I had decided to re-enter the high school sexpool. By the third quarter, I’d fooled around with three drug pushers, four guys from the soccer team (I’m a sucker for soccer players), one girl from the drama club, one guy in a band, and one faculty member—when I commit myself to something, I really commit to it.

 

Anyway, so Lavender was a senior at the time and messing around with Kyle Ronson, and came down with a case of the clap. Kyle said he’d gotten it from a sophomore he called ‘Ashe.’

 

I was eating lunch in the cafeteria with my guys—Stephen, Louis, Xris, and Alex—when I felt someone come up behind me. However, it was a cafeteria filled with students, so that was a pretty common occurrence. Then I felt someone grab my hair. I wore it longer then, half-way down my back, so when she grabbed there was way more of it to get a grip on.

 

I was pulled backwards out of my seat, and I reached back automatically, my nails gouging furrows into the attached arm.

 

The guys looked shocked. Alex was half-standing like he wanted to help, but didn’t quite know what to do, and Xris wasn’t far behind him. They’d both been in trouble quite a bit that year though. If they got caught for fighting one more time, they were both up for expulsion. “No! Sit the fuck down!” I shouted while I reeled around to face my attacker.

 

It was the first time I’d ever really noticed Lavender. I’d seen her in the hallways before, but I had never talked to her. We didn’t have any classes together, and I never really spoke to other girls anyway.

 

“What the fuck, bitch?!” I screamed at her.

 

“Don’t ‘what the fuck’ me, you stupid slut. You know exactly what this is about!” And she took a swing at me.

 

I dropped down to the ground in a split and swiped her legs out from under her.

 

“No, I really have no idea!” I yelled while her back hit the linoleum floor. Using my hands, I bounced back up to a standing position—what do you know, gymnastics had real-life applications!

 

“Kyle Fucking Ronson!” Lavender screamed at me as she moved to a crouching position. I could see her getting ready to spring at me.

 

Holding my hands up defensively, I told her, “Look, chica, I don’t even know who that is.”

 

She smirked at me and sprang. I felt her body hit mine at full-force and we went flying backwards into the pasta bar on wheels. The cart tipped over, spilling food all over the floor. The cart dug into my back and I knew I’d have horrible bruises the next day.

 

“Food Fight!” I heard Louis yell, creating a diversion, and pandemonium erupted. The administrators were already on their way to quell the catfight, but to get to us they’d first have to stop the other rebellion.

 

“Seriously,” I grunted as I pulled Lavender off of me by her hair, and then harder as she pummeled my stomach. I managed to fling her off of me and she went sliding in a puddle of cheese sauce. “I’ve got no clue who Kyle Ronson is! Is he your boyfriend? I’ve never—“

 

Lavender had gotten up. I responded instinctively and moved to ground where I wouldn’t slip on food. Suddenly she rushed me and I felt her kick me in the ribs. Then next thing I knew, I was on the ground, breathing through excruciating pain. I knew she had managed to crack a few.

 

“Lavender!” I heard a male voice shout, and she turned her back on me. Seeing the opening, I heaved myself upright, took one, two running steps, and then I cart wheeled myself into her so my feet pushed her face-first to the ground and I landed on her back.

 

She screamed loudly and the cafeteria was suddenly dead-silent. The administrators had finally gotten to us and a boy in a varsity letterman jacket was looking at me like I was the antichrist, then he laughed.

 

“Lavender, you’re a dumbass!” he said, “NOT Ashe Martin. Ashelei Berk!”

 

I stepped off of Lavender’s back and looked at her in shock. She turned her head to the side and looked at me with equal shock. There was blood pouring out of her broken nose, and I was swamped with regret.

 

The vice principals led us both to the nurses’ office and we spent a week in In-School Suspension after our subsequent three day at-home suspension. It was during this time that Lavender and I bonded, and we were still inseparable even after our ISS.

 

Sadly, Ashelei Berk got jumped one day after school. Her nose was broken and four ribs were fractured and the word ‘ho’ got carved into her cheek. It was tragic, really. She was quite the sight for awhile, and even when she had plastic surgery to get the scar removed the guys at school never fucked around with Ashelei Berk again.

 

Served the bitch right.

 

In addition to that, the head coach of the varsity football team got an anonymous tip that Kyle was doing some heavy drugs. His next pee test came up very positive—we switched his sample with Louis’.

 

Nobody fucks with my friends.

 

*

 

After a quiet dinner during which Lavender talked and I listened, I got out the hot rollers and curled her hair at the circa 1950s kitchen table. While I very patiently wound and unwound sections of hair, Lavender began questioning me about Jackson.

 

“Are you going to even call him back, give him a chance to apologize to you instead of to your text message inbox?”

 

“Hm. I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

 

“Yeah. You guys may not be compatible for anything long-term or regular, but you might still get some sex out of the deal. I mean, when was the last time you got laid?”

 

_When I was up in Vancouver._

I wanted to tell her. God, did I want to tell her, but I couldn’t. The words just stuck in my throat, and I accidentally pulled a little too hard on her hair and she yelped.

 

“Jesus Christ, Ashe, it’s attached! Take it easy.”

 

I apologized swiftly.

 

“Anyway, like I was saying, the sex’ll probably be good, and on the plus you’ll be able to tell people your groupie story when he’s all uber-famous. Should be fun. Besides, everybody deserves a second shot—you were nervous, he was probably nervous, and he’s probably never met anybody quite like you before.”

 

“…I’ll think about it,” I finally conceded. I finished Lavender’s curls and said, “Go get changed and then I’ll put your hair up.” She complied, vanishing into her bedroom. When she emerged wearing a cream colored flapper dress with metallic beading detail-work, I had to applaud.

 

“Damn, girl, that is an awesome dress! I knew it would look good on you, but wow…you rock that shit!” I told her. The dress was more of a ‘20s cocktail dress rather than the usual fringed, gaudy affair everyone associates with the Roaring Twenties. I was planning on wearing a similar silhouette.

 

Lavender and I were well-known for haunting the vintage resale shops. Sometimes we found great things, other times not so much.

 

“Alright, sit your ass back down—I’ve still got some mop-taming to do.”

 

Lavender rolled her eyes and said, “Dude, you’re going to have, like, no time to get ready.”

 

“Whatever. It’s all good.” I blew off her concerns about time. With gentle fingers, I softened her curls and piled them on her head using vintage-looking hair combs and a shit ton of bobby pins. “This is going to look hot as hell…just don’t fuck it up by fucking Stephen before the show.”

 

“No worries...I don’t think Stephen and I will be fucking much longer if his date pans out.” She sounded forlorn, and I didn’t know how to help her—after all, my own ‘love’ life was a similar mess.

 

Feeling like it was totally inadequate, I mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

 

She shrugged and smiled at me like it didn’t matter even when it so obviously did. “It’s no big thing, right? I’ll just find somebody else to scratch my itch. It’s not like there’s a lack of options.” And it was true—Lavender had a veritable line around the block of guys who wanted to do her. “You’d better go get ready,” she told me.

 

I smiled and dropped a kiss on the top of her elaborately coiffed hair, and moved into my bedroom. The dress I’d selected was black, elaborately beaded, and ended in a beaded fringe. I wore my black fuck-me garters, sheer black thigh-highs, and heels that made my calves look stunning. Giving my hair a cursory once-over, I used my flat-iron to fix the spots that had started to wave again, and applied my make-up smoky and sultry with bright red lips. A sparkly jeweled clip perched above my right ear, supposedly holding back wayward strands of hair. Really it was just there to sparkle and tempt.

 

In the end, I was impressed—Lavender even more so than myself. She clapped and said, “Girl, you are going to make men cry tonight.” I smirked at her and we grabbed our things and headed out.

 

*

 

“Dude, just fucking trust me, alright?” Jerad’s voice was exasperated and I gave him the finger from where I was sprawled out on the couch.

 

“I’m not in the mood to go out.”

 

“Why? Because you have a busy night full of moping to look forward to?”

 

“Exactly,” I answered with a deadpan face.

 

“Get up, get dressed, and come with me. We will have drinks, listen to awesome bands, and have hella fun.”

 

I was silent, indecisive. Jerad sighed and yelled, “Ben, your roommate’s being fucking emo as hell! Help me, man!”

 

I saw Ben come out of his room, glance at Jerad, and then he turned his full attention to me. “You look fucking pathetic.” He shared a look with Jerad and then, with an evil glint in his eyes, said, “This calls for an intervention.”

 

“No, guys, I really…”

 

Before I knew it, they had tipped the couch forwards and I rolled onto the ground. “Fuckers,” I growled and got up, tackling both of them. We spent a few minutes beating the crap out of each other. When it was over and our living room looked like a hurricane had come through, I stood up and said, “Fine, I’ll go.”

 

My friends whooped and cheered as I stalked off to the bathroom to shower and throw on some clothes.

 

*

 

I was waiting backstage with the other Sometimes Humanoid musicians, sipping my chosen drink, and listening as Alex read off the set list for the night. It was going to be good—we were trying to stick as close to the Roaring Twenties theme as possible—lots of Jazz and Blues and original songs with similar sounds. I was excited about it, eager to lose myself in the music.

 

Arms wrapped around my middle from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder at Louis. He was taller than me, but only by an inch or two, and slender, with dark brown—almost black—hair that fell to his chin. His brown eyes sparkled at me, always full of mischief, as he asked me, “So, Lovely, you ready to bring down the house with some sultry crooning?”

 

Hugging his arms to me, I responded, “Fuck yeah, I am. I got my water and my alcohol, and an assurance from the bartenders to keep me well-stocked in both throughout the night. Are _you_ ready?” Louis and I had a duet on the agenda tonight, even though he hated singing in public.

 

He stuck his tongue out at me and stated indignantly, “Sweetheart, I’m always ready. You know that.”

 

“Actually, no, I didn’t, but I’ll keep that in mind.” I winked at him and shrugged out of his arms. Flirtation with Louis was as automatic as breathing. It creeped everybody out though, because we looked so much alike—like brother and sister—so we tried to keep it to a minimum. However, despite all the flirting, I’d never even kissed Louis. He was too much my friend for me to do so.

 

Lavender—with her hair still intact—smirked at me as I slinked over to her and wrapped her arms around me. She bent her head, whispering in my ear, “Seriously, do him. Please. Put us all out of our misery.” I laughed and rolled my eyes, and Alex stared at our intimate position and groaned out loud.

 

“Please, no girl-on-girl before the show, ladies. I can’t be strolling out there with a stiffie.” Lavender and I both laughed in response, and Lavender flipped him off.

 

“If you insist, Treeflower.” Alex had been calling Lavender ‘Treeflower’ since the day they met. At first to make fun of her, then it just became a term of endearment.

 

I glanced at the clock at the same time Stephen did, and he announced, “We’re on.”

 

We had less musicians this time around—the six of us, plus three others. It was going to be a challenge to create that big 1920’s sound, but Stephen had assured me that we were good. Walking out onstage, we were greeted with whoops and catcalls from regulars who were familiar with us and what we were all about.

 

I stepped up to the mike, feeling a little intimidated. I was the main vocalist that night and had a couple numbers on the piano as well. That was the only instrument I was getting my greedy little hands on that night.

 

“Welcome to Roaring Twenties night at Treble,” I purred into the microphone, “We are Sometimes Humanoid, and we’ll be your tour guides on this journey through the Jazz Age. This first number is ‘T’ Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness If I Do,’ originally recorded by Bessie Smith, and later covered by the immaculate Billie Holiday. Enjoy the show!”

 

The band struck up the music, and I opened up my mouth and let the words pour forth. I loved Billie Holiday, and I tried to do her and Ms. Smith justice with my rendition. My voice emerged as a low, soulful croon, and I smiled inwardly.

 

_There ain’t nothing I can do_

_or nothing I can say_

_that folks don’t criticize me._

_But I’m going to do_

_just as I want to anyway_

_and don’t care just what people say._

_If I should take a notion_

_to jump into the ocean_

_ain’t nobody’s business if I do._

The lyrics were profound and anthemic if you bothered to listen past the sweetness of my voice and the beauty of the music. I, myself, had rocked out many times to that same song whenever I was feeling down and rebellious. So I sang it with a slight edge to my voice, a purr of warning to people who loved to see conformity that they would not find it there.

 

When the last bar was sung and the music had died off, the applause was thunderous. I tipped my head a bit, playing the demure coquette, and smiled sweetly as the band moved into the next song—an original I’d titled ‘Long Time Coming.’

 

*

 

“I _told_ you guys I knew her from somewhere!” Jerad was crowing triumphantly as he threw back a shot of bourbon.

 

Ben was rolling his eyes at Jerad, saying, “yeah, yeah, you’re awesome, we all suck.”

 

My eyes, however, were locked on the stage, on the girl I’d gone out with just last night. The same girl who’d seemed so nervous and closed-off. The girl who still hadn’t replied to my stupid text message.

 

She was prowling the stage on high heels in a beaded dress that was so short it was scandalous. Her voice was an instrument that evoked anger, lust, sorrow, and happiness in a room filled to the brim with people decked out for Roaring Twenties night. The awkward girl from the night before was gone, replaced with a siren in a flapper dress.

 

In short, she was on fire, and her voice snaked throughout the room like smoke.

 

I was enthralled, and a bit confused…

 

She hadn’t mentioned that she was a singer.

 

*

 

‘Long Time Coming’ had ended and I moved to the piano stool and put my mike in the stand. I told the audience the title of the last song, and followed that up with, “And this little number is ‘WeHo Barbie Blues.’”

 

It was a satirical song written about the kind of girl I had come to associate with West Hollywood. My hands pounded out notes on the piano while words became weapons. The song was fast-paced and edgy, but still keeping the essence of the evening. I saw Lavender smirking at me from where she was plucking a double-bass, occasionally leaning in to her microphone to back me up.

 

After that, Louis and I sang our duet, a song we’d written a long time ago called ‘Conquer Me.’ Hot and raw, it was about a contrary woman who wanted to belong to a man, but couldn’t stand the thought of giving in without a fight. It was written in a call-and-answer format, alternating verses and coming together on the chorus. The man, well…he wasn’t an alpha male, not aggressive, but throughout the song his woman drives him to the brink of madness. The ending was explosive, a culmination of want and need and sexual tension thick enough to choke on.

 

Needless to say, the audience loved it, and Louis and I smiled at each other. He winked playfully, and I pretended to blush like an innocent. “Well, ladies and gents,” I began, “My throat’s a bit parched and my pipes need a break. Without further ado, here’s Stephen singing our rendition of ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz.’”

 

I hopped off the stage with my lowball glass in hand and made my way over to the bar. Radha was working, as was one of the male bartenders, Glen. I waved cheerfully—I liked working with Glen. He was a fun guy. Then peripherally, I noticed something—someone—and stopped dead in my tracks.

 

*

 

She was coming this way. _What should I do? Should I hide? Walk away? Ignore her?_

Then it was too late, because Ashe had spotted me and froze. Our eyes locked for an indefinite amount of time. Eventually, I realized I was smiling at her. She smiled back hesitantly, held up a finger indicating I should wait a moment, and then proceeded to walk to the bar.

 

The woman served her immediately but not without a flirtatious smile and transparent eye-fucking. Ashe smiled back politely and laughed at something the other woman had said, and then she turned and came back to me.

 

*

 

Jackson was there.

 

_Holy shit._

 

With two of his bandmates.

 

_Fuck._

 

What was I supposed to do?

 

He was smiling at me, making his cheeks dimple, and I found myself smiling back involuntarily.

 

It seemed that whatever had happened last night, we were okay now.

 

I had two songs after ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’ during which I could rest. Holding up my finger, I indicated that I’d be right back.

 

Walking up to the bar, Radha buzzed right over. “Hey, Ashe, you look amazing tonight.” She was smiling, her eyes following the plunging neckline of my dress and the curve of my cleavage. I didn’t mind. It was nice to feel wanted.

 

“Thanks, Radha. How’s business?”

 

“Great! Everybody’s loving the show, and the booze is flowing freely!”

 

I laughed. “Awesome. Can I get a refill?”

 

“Sure thing, my little speakeasy starlet.” She grabbed my lowball and put it in the sink behind the bar, then pulled out a clean glass and scooped some ice in. “Top shelf tequila, right?”

 

“Damn straight. I’ll take the Cabo White.”

 

That went in the glass first, then some Cuantro, followed by lime juice, and a splash of orange juice. I took a sip when Radha handed me the glass and smiled at her. “Thank you, gorgeous. See you!” I waggled my fingers at her and swept off towards Jackson’s table.

 

“Hey, guys!” I said when I’d made it over there, “Can I have a seat?”

 

“Go right ahead,” Ben G. indicated with a wave of his hand.

 

“I finally figured out where I knew you from!” Jerad told me, “I’ve seen your band play here a few times.”

 

I smiled and shook my head, “It’s more of a musical co-op than a band. What do you guys think of the show so far?”

 

“Hella good!” Jerad cheered.

 

“It’s good,” Ben G. replied, a little less enthusiastic.

 

I cocked an eyebrow at Jackson, waiting for his response. He smiled and leaned it to whisper in my ear, “It’s great and you know it. I wish you would have told me you were a musician.”

 

My head tipped to the side and I asked, “Why?”

 

He shrugged. “I thought we were getting to know each other—typically, these are things you share in the ‘getting to know you’ process.”

 

I nodded my head like I understood, but I didn’t really. It just didn’t seem important to me. Sometimes Humanoid was more like a hobby for me than anything. Hobbies are things you find out along the way through conversation, not pertinent information.

 

Leaning in, I whispered in Jackson’s ear, “I’m sorry I was such a freak last night. I was out of sorts.”

 

He smiled his brilliant smile at me and said, “It’s okay. So was I.”

 

Just like that, all was forgiven. Someone was clearing their throat, and I startled, my eyes landing on Ben G.

 

“If you two are done making moon eyes at each other,” he snickered, “I think Ashe has a show to finish up.”

 

“Oh, yeah! I do!” I shot up out of my seat, but not before calling to Jackson, “Hang back after!”  

 

The band was just wrapping up a Fox Trot as I got back. Lavender was grinning at me and making suggestive faces. Stephen was smiling and shaking his head. The rest of my bandmates seemed torn between relief at my return and confusion as to why I was suddenly in a stellar mood.

 

I sang ‘Blue Moon’ by Billie Holiday. It wasn’t really a Roaring Twenties song, but it was Billie, and how can you not love Billie?

 

Another original song followed with me on the piano.

 

We covered ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’ by The Pierces with Lavender singing the harmony, and ‘Chain Gang’ by Ma Rainey.

 

I sang a song called ‘At Least Pets Can’t Lie To Me,’ which I’d written late last year about why an old maid had chosen to remain so. My fingers played a plucky harmony on the piano while I belted out the words Tori Amos-style.

 

Then we wrapped it up with a heartfelt presentation of ‘Foolin’ Myself’ by Billie Holiday.

 

“Thank you for being a stellar audience! Once again, we are Sometimes Humanoid, and we wish you all a copasetic evening!” With quick, bobbing curtsies, Lavender and I escaped backstage and the boys followed not far behind.

 

We were all laughing and exultant, high on the applause. “That was awesome, guys!” Stephen was crowing, “Totally fucking amazing!” Everyone was trading high-fives and man-hugs and trading stories even though we had all been there at the same time.

 

Lavender and I clutched each other close and she grinned at me in that annoying way that said she had something to say. “What?” I practically growled.

 

“Where’s Jackson?”

 

“How do you know he’s here?”

 

“Because I’m amazing. Now introduce me to the man-candy,” she teased and nudged my hip with her own.

 

“Fine, whatever. Come on.” I grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the boys. We walked with long, self-assured steps back to Jackson’s table where he was still waiting for me.

 

Ben G. looked up and I swear he did a double-take while he stared at my friend. I laughed to myself and said, “Everybody, this is Lavender. La, this is Jackson, Ben, and Jerad.”

 

Lavender held out her hand for Jackson to shake and—I swear to god—sized him up. She looked at me when she’d released his hand and told me, “He’ll do.” Then she shook Jerad and Ben’s hands, smiling flirtatiously at Ben—knowing her, she’d already spotted Jerad’s wedding ring and told herself he was off-limits. Good girl.

 

Jackson looked at me curiously as he asked, “What was that about?”

 

I shrugged. “It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t get it.” Snagging another chair from the table behind us, I indicated to Lavender that she should sit down. She smiled at me gratefully and took a seat, smoothing her dress down, and proceeded to entertain Jerad and Ben.

 

Lavender was an amazing wingman.

 

I turned my attention to Jackson, and he smiled at me.

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

“Hey,” I smiled, “Thanks for waiting.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

“I really am sorry about yesterday.”

 

“It’s really okay. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Okay…” My voice trailed off, “So how was your day? What did you do?”

 

“Nothing, really.”

 

“He moped like a little bitch,” I heard Ben’s voice state.

 

I laughed a little and raised my brows at Jackson. He conceded the point with a bashful tip of his head. “That’s a pretty accurate statement,” he admitted.

 

Without conscious thought, I put my hand on his thigh, and asked coyly, “But you’re not moping now, right?”

 

His mossy green eyes flicked down to my hand and then back up to my face as a slow smile curled his lips up. “Definitely not.”

 

“Good!” I chirped and gently squeezed his thigh, “Then you should come with me for ice cream!”

 

“Ice cream?”

 

“Ice cream,” I nodded, quite serious.

 

“Where can we get ice cream at damn near two in the morning?”

 

“I’ll show you. Do you have your car?”

 

“No, I rode with Jerad.”

 

“Okay…”

 

Lavender, eavesdropper extraordinaire, leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’ll find a ride with one of the guys.” We exchanged a secretive smile and I mouthed my gratitude at her. She just winked at me and made a shooing gesture with one hand, making sure to keep it out of everyone else’s eyesight.

 

“Come on!” I said, and tugged Jackson up and out to the employee parking lot.

 

“Employee parking?” he questioned as we strolled up to my nothing-special compact car.

 

“This is where I bartend,” I told him as I unlocked the car and slid in the driver’s seat.

 

“Yeah? It’s a nice place.”

 

“Fuck yeah. I’ve been coming here for years. Love it!” I pulled out of the parking space and took off. We left WeHo and headed further west towards Downtown. There was a little diner, a 24/7 type-dealie that I’d discovered back in high school. They made the best malts on earth and to-die-for sundaes. The neon sign glowed onto the street, proudly proclaiming the restaurant to be named Ruby’s.

 

“We’re here,” I said after I parked on the street.

 

“Is this our second date then?” Jackson asked while he released his seat belt.

 

“Hm…” I pretended to deliberate, “It can be, but only if you promise to kiss me this time.” I winked at him, and he smiled that slow grin again.

 

“I think I can handle that,” he stated.

 

I firmly ignored my inner Jasper-fangirl squeeing and stepped out of the car with a smug smile in place.

 

*

 

TBC…

 

So, that was chapter six. Did you like it? I liked it.

 

I so was not planning on doing any Fake Jackson POV during this story, but it just kind of happened. Still, I think I’m going to try and keep those to a minimum—I don’t want people getting offended if I characterize him incorrectly.

 

Did you like how Ashe and Jackson forgave each other? LOL. It’s very romantic, actually—their eyes met and all of their misgivings melted away. I think that might be the corniest thing I’ve ever written.

 

Sorry about all the Billie Holiday in this chapter—I’m a huge fan, and when I think of the Jazz Age, I can’t help but think about Ms. Holiday. Let’s take a poll: how many of you like Billie Holiday?


End file.
